:r 


A 


SANDY 


BY  THE  AUTHOKO? 


THE  CABBAGEPATCH 


sf! 


/ 


SANDY 


Looking  up,  he  saw  a  slen<ler  little  girl  in  a 
and  a  white  tani-o'-shaiiter  " 


coat 


SANDY 


BY 

ALICE  HEGAN  EICE 

H 
AUTHOE   OF 

MKS.    WIGGS   OF   THE    CABBAGE   PATCH 


NEW  YORK 

THE   CENTUEY  CO. 

1905 


Copyright,  1904,  1905,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  April,  1905 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


TO    MY   AUNT 
MISS  MARY  A.    HEGAN 

WHO  USED  TO  TELL  ME  BETTER  STORIES 
THAN  I  SHALL  EVER  WRITE 


912944 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

i  THE  STOWAWAY 3 

ii  ON  SHIPBOARD 19 

in  THE  CURSE  OF  WEALTH 35 

iv  SIDE-TRACKED       41 

v  SANDY  RETIRES  FROM  BUSINESS 51 

vi  HOLLIS  FARM 66 

vii  CONVALESCENCE 79 

vin  AUNT  MELVY  AS  A  SOOTHSAYER 92 

ix  TRANSITION 101 

x  WATERLOO 106 

xi  "  THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES  " 118 

xii  ANTICIPATION 131 

xni  THE  COUNTY  FAIR 140 

xiv  A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR       154 

xv  HELL  AND  HEAVEN 160 

xvi  THE  NELSON  HOME 176 

xvn  UNDER  THE  WILLOWS 192 

xvin  THE  VICTIM 208 

xix  THE  TRIALS  OF  AN  ASSISTANT  POSTMASTER    .    .  222 

xx  THE  IRONY  OF  CHANCE 232 

xxi  IN  THE  DARK 253 

xxn  AT  WILLOWVALE 268 

xxm  "  THE  SHADOW  ON  THE  HEART  " 286 

xxiv  THE  PRIMROSE  WAY  .  301 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

' '  Looking  up,  he  saw  a  slender  little  girl  in  a  long  tan 
coat  and  a  white  tam-o'-shanter "      .     .     .    Frontispiece 

"  He  sent  up  yell  after  yell  of  victory  for  the  land  of 
his  adoption " 15 

"  He  smiled  away  his  debt  of  gratitude  " 77 

"  Then  he  forgot  all  about  the  steps  and  counting  time  "  173 
"Burning  deeds  of  prowess  rioted  in  his  brain  "        .     .  195 

"  Sandy  saw  her  waver  " 241 

"  '  It >s  been  love,  Sandy,  .  .  .  ever  since  the  first ' "     .267 


SANDY 


SANDY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   STOWAWAY 

N  English  mist  was  rolling 
lazily  inland  from  the  sea. 
It  half  enveloped  the  two 
great  ocean  liners  that  lay 
tugging  at  their  moorings  in 
the  bay,  and  settled  over  the  wharf  with  a 
grim  determination  to  check,  as  far  as  pos 
sible,  the  traffic  of  the  morning. 

But  the  activity  of  the  wharf,  while  im 
peded,  was  in  no  wise  stopped.  The  bustle, 
rattle,  and  shouting  were,  in  fact,  aug 
mented  by  the  temporary  interference. 
Everybody  seemed  in  a  hurry,  and  every 
body  seemed  'out  of  temper,  save  a  boy  who 
lay  at  full  length  on  the  quay  and  earnestly 


.  v  :  :• :  %/  ^      Sandy 

sfudied' a  weather-vane  that  was  lazily  try 
ing  to  make  up  its  mind  which  way  to  point. 

He  was  ragged  and  brawny  and  pictur 
esque.  His  hands,  bronzed  by  the  tan  of 
sixteen  summers,  were  clasped  under  his 
head,  and  his  legs  were  crossed,  one  sole- 
less  shoe  on  high  vaunting  its  nakedness 
in  the  face  of  an  indifferent  world.  A 
sailor's  blouse,  two  sizes  too  large,  was  held 
together  at  the  neck  by  a  bit  of  red  cam 
bric,  and  his  trousers  were  anchored  to  their 
mooring  by  a  heavy  piece  of  yellow  twine. 
The  indolence  of  his  position,  however,  was 
not  indicative  of  the  state  of  his  mind;  for 
under  his  weather-beaten  old  cap,  perched 
sidewise  on  a  tousled  head,  was  a  commo 
tion  of  dreams  and  schemes,  ambitions  and 
plans,  whose  activities  would  have  put  to 
shame  the  busiest  wharf  in  the  world. 

"It  's  your  show,  Sandy  Kilday!"  he 
said,  half  aloud,  with  a  bit  of  a  brogue  that 
flavored  his  speech  as  the  salt  flavors  the 
sea  air.  "You  don't  want  to  be  a  bloomin' 
old  weather-vane,  a-changin'  your  mind 

4 


The  Stowaway 

every  time  the  wind  blows.  Is  it  go,  or 
stay?" 

The  answer,  instead  of  coming,  got  side 
tracked  by  the  train  of  thought  that  de 
scended  upon  him  when  he  was  actually  face 
to  face  with  his  decision.  All  sorts  of  mem 
ories  came  rushing  pell-mell  through  his 
brain.  The  cold  and  hungry  ones  were  the 
most  insistent,  but  he  brushed  them  aside. 

The  one  he  clung  to  longest  was  the  ear 
liest  and  most  shadowy  of  the  lot.  It  was 
of  a  little  white  house  on  an  Irish  heath, 
and  inside  was  the  biggest  fireplace  in  the 
world,  where  crimson  flames  went  roaring 
up  the  big,  dark  chimney,  and  where  witches 
and  fairies  held  high  carnival.  There  was 
a  big  chair  on  each  side  the  hearth,  and 
between  them  a  tiny  red  rocker  with  flowers 
painted  on  the  arms  of  it.  That  was  the 
clearest  of  all.  There  were  persons  in  the 
large  chairs,  one  a  silent  Scotchman  who, 
instinct  told  him,  must  have  been  his  father, 
and  the  other— oh,  tricky  memory  that  fal 
tered  when  he  wanted  it  to  be  so  clear!— 

i  5 


Sandy 

was  the  maddest,  merriest  little  mother  that 
ever  came  back  to  haunt  a  lad.  By  holding 
tight  to  the  memory  he  could  see  that  her 
eyes  were  blue  like  his  own,  but  her  hair  was 
black.  He  could  hear  the  ring  of  her  laugh 
as  she  told  him  Irish  stories,  and  the  soft 
drone  of  her  voice  as  she  sang  him  old  Irish 
songs.  It  was  she  who  told  him  about  the 
fairies  and  witches  that  lived  up  behind 
the  peat-flames.  He  remembered  holding 
her  hand  and  putting  his  cheek  against  it 
when  the  goblins  came  too  near.  Then  the 
picture  would  go  out,  like  a  picture  in  a 
magic-lantern  show,  and  sometimes  Sandy 
could  make  it  come  back,  and  sometimes  he 
could  not. 

After  that  came  a  succession  of  memories, 
but  none  of  them  held  the  silent  father  and 
the  merry  mother  and  the  little  white  house 
on  the  heath.  They  were  of  new  faces  and 
new  places,  of  temporary  homes  with  rela 
tives  in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  of  various 
schools  and  unceasing  work.  Then  came 
the  day,  two  years  ago,  when,  goaded  by 

6 


The  Stoivaway 

some  injustice,  real  or  imagined,  tie  had 
run  away  to  England  and  struck  out  alone 
and  empty-handed  to  care  for  himself.  It 
had  been  a  rough  experience,  and  there  were 
days  that  he  was  glad  to  forget ;  but  through 
it  all  the  taste  of  freedom  had  been  sweet  in 
his  mouth. 

For  three  weeks  he  had  been  hanging 
about  the  docks,  picking  up  jobs  here  and 
there,  accommodating  any  one  who  wanted 
to  be  accommodated,  making  many  friends 
and  little  money.  He  had  had  no  thought 
of  embarking  until  the  big  English  liner 
Great  Britain  arrived  in  port  after  break 
ing  all  records  on  her  homeward  passage. 
She  was  to  start  on  her  second  trip  to-day, 
and  an  hour  later  her  rival,  the  steamship 
America,  was  to  take  her  departure.  The 
relative  merits  of  the  two  vessels  had  been 
the  talk  of  the  wharf  for  days. 

Sandy  had  made  it  a  rule  in  life  to  be  on 
hand  when  anything  was  happening.  He 
had  viewed  cricket-matches  from  tree-tops, 
had  answered  the  call  of  fire  at  midnight, 


Sandy 

and  tramped  ten  miles  to  see  the  finish  of 
a  great  regatta.  But  something  was  about 
to  take  place  which  seemed  entirely  beyond 
his  attainment.  Two  hours  passed  before 
he  solved  the  problem. 

"Takin'  the  rest-cure,  kid?"  asked  a 
passing  sailor  as  he  shied  a  stick  at  Sandy's 
shins. 

Sandy  stretched  himself  and  smiled  up  at 
the  sailor.  It  was  a  smile  that  waited  for 
an  answer  and  usually  got  it— a  smile  so 
brimming  over  with  good-fellowship  and 
confidence  that  it  made  a  lover  of  a  friend 
and  a  friend  of  an  enemy. 

"It  's  a  trip  that  I  'm  thinkin'  of  takin',' > 
he  cried  blithely  as  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 
' '  Here  's  the  shillin'  I  owe  you,  partner, 
and  may  the  best  luck  ye  ?ve  had  be  the 
worst  luck  that  's  cominV 

He  tossed  a  coin  to  the  sailor,  and  thrust 
ing  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  executed  a 
brief  but  brilliant  pas  seul,  and  then  went 
whistling  away  down  the  wharf.  He  swung 
along  right  cheerily,  his  rags  fluttering,  his 


The  Stowaway 

chin  in  the  air,  for  the  wind  had  settled  in 
one  direction,  and  the  weather-vane  and 
Sandy  had  both  made  up  their  minds. 

The  sailor  looked  after  him  fondly. 
"He  's  a  bloomin'  good  little  chap,"  he  said 
to  a  man  near  by.  "Carries  a  civil  tongue 
in  his  head  for  everybody." 

The  man  grunted.  "He  's  too  off  and 
on,"  he  said.  "He  '11  never  come  to 
naught. ' ' 

Two  days  later,  the  America,  cutting  her 
way  across  the  Atlantic,  carried  one  more 
passenger  than  she  registered.  In  the  big 
life-boat  swung  above  the  hurricane-deck 
lay  Sandy  Kilday,  snugly  concealed  by 
the  heavy  canvas  covering. 

He  had  managed  to  come  aboard  under 
cover  of  the  friendly  fog,  and  had  boldly 
appropriated  a  life-boat  and  was  doing 
light  housekeeping.  The  apartment,  to  be 
sure,  was  rather  small  and  dark,  for  the 
only  light  came  through  a  tiny  aperture 
where  the  canvas  was  tucked  back.  At  this 
end  Sandy  attended  to  his  domestic  duties. 


Sandy 

Here  were  stored  the  fresh  water  and  hard 
tack  which  the  law  requires  every  life-boat 
to  carry  in  case  of  an  emergency.  Added 
to  these  was  Sandy's  private  larder,  con 
sisting  of  several  loaves  of  -bread,  a  bag  of 
apples,  and  some  canned  meat.  The  other 
end  of  the  boat  was  utilized  as  a  bedroom, 
a  couple  of  life-preservers  serving  as  the 
bed,  and  his  own  bundle  of  personal  belong 
ings  doing  duty  as  a  pillow. 

There  were  some  drawbacks,  naturally, 
especially  to  an  energetic,  restless  young 
ster  who  had  never  been  in  one  place  so 
long  before  in  his  life.  It  was  exceedingly 
inconvenient  to  have  to  lie  down  or  crawl; 
but  Sandy  had  been  used  to  inconveniences 
all  his  life,  and  this  was  simply  a  difference 
in  kind,  not  in  degree.  Besides,  he  could 
steal  out  at  night  and,  by  being  very  care 
ful  and  still,  manage  to  avoid  the  night 
watch. 

The  first  night  out  a  man  and  a  girl  had 
come  up  from  the  cabin  deck  and  sat  di 
rectly  under  his  hiding-place.     At  first  he 
10 


The  Stowaway 

was  too  much  afraid  of  discovery  to  listen 
to  what  they  were  saying,  but  later  his  in 
terest  outweighed  his  fear.  For  they  were 
evidently  lovers,  and  Sandy  was  at  that  in 
flammable  age  when  to  hear  mention  of  love 
is  dangerous  and  to  see  a  manifestation  of  it 
absolute  contagion.  When  the  great  ques 
tion  came,  his  heart  waited  for  the  answer. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  added  weight  of  his  un 
spoken  influence  that  turned  the  scale.  She 
said  yes.  During  the  silence  that  followed, 
Sandy,  unable  to  restrain  his  joy,  threw  his 
arms  about  a  life-preserver  and  embraced 
it  fervently. 

When  they  were  gone  he  crawled  out  to 
stretch  his  weary  body.  On  the  deck  he 
found  a  book  which  they  had  left;  it  was  a 
green  book,  and  on  the  cover  was  a  golden 
castle  on  a  golden  hill.  All  the  rest  of  his 
life  he  loved  a  green  book  best,  for  it  was 
through  this  one  that  he  found  his  way  back 
again  to  that  enchanted  land  that  lay  behind 
the  peat-flames  in  the  shadowy  memory. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  read  it,  with  his 
11 


Sandy 

head  on  the  box  of  hardtack  and  his  feet 
on  the  water-can.  Twice  he  reluctantly  tore 
himself  from  its  pages  and  put  it  back 
where  he  had  found  it.  No  one  came  to 
claim  it,  and  it  lay  there,  with  the  golden 
castle  shining  in  the  sun.  Sandy  decided 
to  take  one  more  peep. 

It  was  all  about  gallant  knights  and  noble 
lords,  of  damsels  passing  fair,  of  tourneys 
and  feasts  and  battles  fierce  and  long.  Story 
after  story  he  devoured,  until  he  came  to 
the  best  one  of  all.  It  told  of  a  beautiful 
damsel  with  a  mantle  richly  furred,  who  was 
girt  with  a  cumbrous  sword  which  did  her 
great  sorrow ;  for  she  might  not  be  delivered 
of  it  save  by  a  knight  who  was  of  passing 
good  name  both  of  his  lands  and  deeds. 
And  after  that  all  the  great  knights  had 
striven  in  vain  to  draw  the  sword  from  its 
sheath,  a  poor  knight,  poorly  arrayed,  felt 
in  his  heart  that  he  might  essay  it,  but  was 
abashed.  At  last,  however,  when  the  dam 
sel  was  departing,  he  plucked  up  courage 
to  ask  if  he  might  try;  and  when  she  hesi- 
12 


The  Stowaway 

tated  he  said:  "Fair  damsel,  worthiness 
and  good  deeds  are  not  only  in  arrayment, 
but  manhood  and  worship  are  hid  within 
man's  person. "  Then  the  poor  knight  took 
the  sword  by  the  girdle  and  sheath  and  drew 
it  out  easily. 

And  it  was  not  until  then  that  Sandy  knew 
that  he  had  had  no  dinner,  and  that  the  sun 
had  climbed  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
steamer,  and  that  a  continual  cheering  was 
coming  up  from  the  deck  below.  Cautiously 
he  pulled  back  the  canvas  flap  and  emerged 
like  the  head  of  a  turtle  from  his  shell.  The 
bright  sunshine  dazzled  him  for  a  moment, 
then  he  saw  a  sight  that  sent  the  dreams  fly 
ing.  There,  just  ahead,  was  the  Great 
Britain  under  full  way,  valiantly  striving 
to  hold  her  record  against  the  oncoming 
steamer. 

Sandy  sat  up  and  breathlessly  watched 
the  champion  of  the  sea,  her  smoke-stacks 
black  against  the  wide  stretch  of  shining 
waters.  The  Union  Jack  was  flying  in  in 
solent  security  from  her  flagstaff.  There 

13 


Sandy 

were  many  figures  on  deck,  and  her  music 
was  growing  louder  every  minute.  Inch 
by  inch  the  America  gained  upon  her,  until 
they  were  bow  and  bow.  The  crowd  below 
grew  wilder,  cheers  went  up  from  both 
steamers,  the  decks  were  white  with  the 
flutter  of  handkerchiefs. 

Suddenly  the  band  below  struck  up  ' '  The 
Star-Spangled  Banner/7  Sandy  gave  one 
triumphant  glance  at  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
floating  overhead,  and  in  that  moment  be 
came  naturalized.  He  leaped  to  his  feet 
in  the  boat,  and  tearing  the  blouse  from 
his  back,  waved  the  tattered  banner  in  the 
face  of  the  vanquished  Great  Britain,  as  he 
sent  up  yell  after  yell  of  victory  for  the  land 
of  his  adoption. 

Then  he  was  seized  by  the  ankle  and 
jerked  roughly  down  upon  the  deck.  Over 
him  stood  the  deck  steward. 

"You  're  a  rum  egg  for  that  old  boat  to 
hatch  out,"  he  said.  "I  guess  the  cap'n 
will  be  wantin '  to  see  you. ' ' 

Sandy,     thus     peremptorily     summoned 

14 


The  Stowaway 

from  the  height  of  patriotic  frenzy,  col 
lapsed  in  terror.  Had  the  deck  steward 
not  been  familiar  with  stowaways,  he  doubt 
less  would  have  been  moved  by  the  flood  of 
eloquent  persuasion  which  Sandy  brought 
to  bear. 

As  it  was,  he  led  him  ruthlessly  down  the 
narrow  steps,  past  the  long  line  of  curious 
passengers,  then  down  again  to  the  steerage 
deck,  where  he  deposited  him  on  a  coil  of 
rope  and  bade  him  stay  there  until  he  was 
sent  for. 

Here  Sandy  sat  for  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon,  stared  at  from  above  and  below, 
an  object  of  lively  curiosity.  He  bit  his 
nails  until  the  blood  came,  and  struggled 
manfully  to  keep  back  the  tears.  He  was 
cold,  hungry,  and  disgraced,  and  his  mind 
was  full  of  sinister  thoughts.  Inch  by  inch 
he  moved  closer  to  the  railing. 

Suddenly  something  fell  at  his  feet.  It 
was  an  orange.  Looking  up,  he  saw  a  slen 
der  little  girl  in  a  long  tan  coat  and  a  white 
tam-o  '-shanter  leaning  over  the  railing.  He 

17 


Sandy 

only  knew  that  her  eyes  were  brown  and 
that  she  was  sorry  for  him,  but  it  changed 
his  world.  He  pulled  off  his  cap,  and  sent 
her  such  an  ardent  smile  of  gratitude  that 
she  melted  from  the  railing  like  a  snowflake 
under  the  kiss  of  the  sun. 

Sandy  ate  the  orange  and  took  courage. 
Life  had  acquired  a  new  interest. 


18 


CHAPTEE  II 


ON  SHIPBOAKD 

HE  days  that  followed  were 
not  rose-strewn.  Disgrace 
sat  heavily  upon  the  delin 
quent,  and  he  did  penance  by 

foregoing  the  joys  of  society. 

Menial  labor  and  the  knowledge  that  be 
would  not  be  allowed  to  land,  but  would  be 
sent  back  by  the  first  steamer,  were  made  all 
the  more  unbearable  by  his  first  experience 
with  illness.  He  had  accepted  his  fate  and 
prepared  to  die  when  the  ship's  surgeon 
found  him. 

The  ship's  surgeon  was  cruel  enough  to 
laugh,  but  he  persuaded  Sandy  to  come  back 
to  life.  He  was  a  small,  white,  round  little 
man;  and  when  he  came  rolling  down  the 
deck  in  his  white  linen  suit,  his  face  beam- 

19 


Sandy 

ing  from  its  white  frame  of  close-cropped 
hair  and  beard,  he  was  not  unlike  one  of  his 
own  round  white  little  pills,  except  that  their 
sweetness  stopped  on  the  outside  and  his 
went  clear  through. 

He  discovered  Sandy  lying  on  his  face 
in  the  passageway,  his  right  hand  still  duti 
fully  wielding  the  scrub-brush,  but  his  spirit 
broken  and  his  courage  low. 

' 'Hello !"  he  exclaimed  briskly;  "what  's 
your  name?" 

"  Sandy  Kilday." 

"  Scotch,  eh  I" 

"Me  name  is.  The  rest  of  me  's  Irish," 
groaned  Sandy. 

"Well,  Sandy,  my  boy,  that  's  no  way  to 
scrub.  Come  out  and  get  some  air,  and  then 
go  back  and  do  it  right." 

He  guided  Sandy's  dying  footsteps  to  the 
deck  and  propped  him  against  the  railing. 
That  was  when  he  laughed. 

"Not  much  of  a  sailor,  eh?"  he  quizzed. 
"You  '11  be  all  right  soon;  we  have  been 
getting  the  tail-end  of  a  big  nor 'wester." 

20 


On  Shipboard 

"A  happy  storm  it  must  have  been,  sir, 
to  wag  its  tail  so  gay,"  said  Sandy,  trying 
to  smile. 

The  doctor  clapped  him  on  the  back. 
"You  're  better.  Want  something  to  eat?" 

Sandy  declined  with  violence.  He  ex 
plained  his  feelings  with  all  the  authority 
of  a  first  experience,  adding  in  conclu 
sion:  "It  was  Jonah  I  used  to  be  after 
feelin'  sorry  for;  it  ain't  now.  It  's  the 
whale." 

The  doctor  prevailed  upon  him  to  drink 
some  hot  tea  and  eat  a  sandwich.  It  was 
a  heroic  effort,  but  Sandy  would  have  done 
even  more  to  prolong  the  friendly  conver 
sation. 

"How  many  more  days  have  we  got, 
sir?" 

"Five;  but  there  's  the  return  trip  for 
you." 

Sandy's  face  flushed.  "If  they  send  me 
home,  I  '11  be  comin '  back ! "  he  cried,  cling 
ing  to  the  railing  as  the  ship  lurched  for 
ward.  "I  'm  goin'  to  be  an  American.  I 

21 


Sandy 

am  go  in'— "  Further  declarations  as  to 
his  future  policy  were  cut  short. 

From  that  time  on  the  doctor  took  an 
interest  in  him.  He  even  took  up  a  collec 
tion  of  clothes  for  him  among  the  officers. 
His  professional  services  were  no  longer 
necessary,  for  Sandy  enjoyed  a  speedy  re 
covery  from  his  maritime  troubles. 

'  *  You  are  luckier  than  the  rest, ' '  he  said, 
one  day,  stopping  on  his  rounds.  "I  never 
had  so  many  steerage  patients  before." 

The  work  was  so  heavy,  in  fact,  that  he 
obtained  permission  to  get  a  boy  to  assist 
him.  The  happy  duty  devolved  upon  Sandy, 
who  promptly  embraced  not  only  the  oppor 
tunity,  but  the  doctor  and  the  profession  as 
well.  He  entered  into  his  new  work  with 
such  energy  and  enthusiasm  that  by  the  end 
of  the  week  he  knew  every  man  below  the 
cabin  deck.  So  expeditious  did  he  become 
that  he  found  many  idle  moments  in  which 
to  cultivate  acquaintances. 

His  chosen  companion  at  these  times  was 
a  boy  in  the  steerage,  selected  not  for  con- 

22 


On  Shipboard 

geniality,  but  for  his  unlimited  knowledge 
of  all  things  terrestrial,  from  the  easiest 
way  of  making  a  fortune  to  the  best  way  of 
spending  it.  He  was  a  short,  heavy-set  fel 
low  of  some  eighteen  years.  His  hair  grew 
straight  up  from  an  overhanging  forehead, 
under  which  two  small  eyes  seemed  always 
to  be  furtively  watching  each  other  over  the 
bridge  of  his  flat  snub  nose.  His  lips  met 
with  difficulty  across  large,  irregular  teeth. 
Such  was  Ricks  Wilson,  the  most  unpre 
possessing  soul  on  board  the  good  ship 
America. 

"You  see,  it  's  this  way,"  explained 
Ricks  as  the  boys  sat  behind  the  smoke 
stack  and  Sandy  became  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  a  wonderful  game  called 
" craps. "  "I  did  n't  have  no  more  'n 
you  've  got.  I  lived  down  South,  clean  off 
the  track  of  everything.  I  puts  my  foot  in 
my  hand  and  went  out  and  seen  the  world. 
I  tramps  up  to  New  York,  works  my  way 
over  to  England,  tramps  and  peddles,  and 
gits  enough  dough  to  pay  my  way  back. 

2  23 


Sandy 

Say,  it  's  bum  slow  over  there.  Why,  they 
ain't  even  on  to  street-cars  in  London!  I 
makes  more  in  a  week  at  home  than  I  do 
in  a  month  in  England.  Say,  where  you 
goin'  at  when  we  land!" 

Sandy  shook  his  head  ruefully.  "I  got  to 
go  back,"  he  said. 

Kicks  glanced  around  cautiously,  then 
moved  closer. 

''You  ain't  that  big  a  sucker,  are  you! 
Any  feller  that  could  n't  hop  the  twig  off  en 
this  old  boat  ain't  much,  that  's  all  I  got  to 
say." 

"Oh,  it  's  not  the  gettin'  away,"  said 
Sandy,  more  certain  than  ever,  now  that  he 
was  sure  of  an  ally. 

"Homesick!"  asked  Ricks,  with  a  sneer. 

Sandy  gave  a  short  laugh.  "Home! 
Why,  I  ain't  got  any  home.  I  Ve  just  lived 
around  since  I  was  a  young  one.  It  's  a 
chance  to  get  on  that  I  'm  after. ' ' 

"Well,  what  in  thunder  is  takin'  you 
back!" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sandy,  "'cep'n'  it 

24 


On  Shipboard 

ain't  in  me  to  give  'em  the  slip  now  I  know 
'em.  Then  there  's  the  doctor—" 

"That  old  feather-bed?  0  Lord!  He  's 
so  good  he  gives  me  a  pain.  Goes  round 
with  his  mouth  hiked  up  in  a  smile,  and  I 
bet  he  's  as  mean  as  the—" 

Before  Ricks  could  finish  he  found  him 
self  inextricably  tangled  in  Sandy's  arms 
and  legs,  while  that  irate  youth  sat  upon 
him  and  pommeled  him  soundly. 

"So  it  's  the  good  doctor  ye  'd  be  after 
blasphemin'  and  abusin'  and  makin'  game 
of!  By  the  powers,  ye  '11  take  it  back! 
Speak  one  time  more,  and  I  '11  make  you 
swaller  the  lyin'  words,  if  I  have  to  break 
every  bone  in  your  skin!" 

There  was  an  ugly  look  in  Ricks  's  face  as 
he  threw  the  smaller  boy  off,  but  further 
trouble  was  prevented  by  the  appearance  of 
the  second  mate. 

Sandy  hurried  away  to  his  duties,  but  not 
without  an  anxious  glance  at  the  upper  deck. 
He  had  never  lost  an  opportunity,  since  that 
first  day,  of  looking  up;  but  this  was  the 

25 


Sandy 

first  time  that  he  was  glad  she  was  not  there. 
Only  once  had  he  caught  sight  of  a  white 
tarn  and  a  tan  coat,  and  that  was  when  they 
were  being  conducted  hastily  below  by  a 
sympathetic  stewardess. 

But  Sandy  needed  no  further  food  for 
his  dreams  than  he  already  had.  On  sunny 
afternoons,  when  he  had  the  time,  he  would 
seek  a  secluded  corner  of  the  deck,  and 
stretching  himself  on  the  boards  with  the 
green  book  in  his  hand,  would  float  in  a  sea 
of  sentiment.  The  fact  that  he  had  decided 
to  study  medicine  and  become  a  ship's  sur 
geon  in  no  wise  interfered  with  his  fixed 
purpose  of  riding  forth  into  the  world  on 
a  cream-white  charger  in  search  of  a  dam 
sel  in  distress. 

So  thrilled  did  he  become  with  the  vision 
that  he  fell  to  making  rhymes,  and  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  the  same  pair  of  eyes 
always  rhymed  with  skies— and  they  were 
brown. 

Sometimes,  at  night,  a  group  would 
gather  on  the  steerage  deck  and  sing.  A 

26 


On  Shipboard 

black-haired  Italian,  with  shirt  open  at  the 
throat,  would  strike  a  pose  and  fling  out  a 
wild  serenade;  or  a  fat,  placid  German 
would  remove  his  pipe  long  enough  to  troll 
forth  a  mighty  drinking-song.  Whenever 
the  air  was  a  familiar  one,  the  entire  circle 
joined  in  the  chorus.  At  such  times  Sandy 
was  always  on  hand,  singing  with  the  loud 
est  and  telling  his  story  with  the  best. 

' 'Make  de  jolly  little  Irish  one  to  sing  by 
hisself!"  called  a  woman  one  night  from 
the  edge  of  the  crowd.  The  invitation  was 
taken  up  and  repeated  on  every  side. 
Sandy,  laughing  and  protesting,  was  pushed 
to  the  front.  Being  thus  suddenly  forced 
into  prominence,  he  suffered  an  acute  at 
tack  of  stage  fright. 

' '  Chirp  up  there  now  and  give  us  a  tune ! ' ' 
cried  some  one  behind  him. 

" Can't  ye  remember  none?"  asked  an 
other. 

"Sure,"  said  Sandy,  laughing  sheep 
ishly;  "but  they  all  come  wrong  end  first." 

Some  one  had  thrust  an  old  guitar  in  his 

27 


Sandy 

hands,  and  he  stood  nervously  picking  at 
the  strings.  He  might  have  been  standing 
there  still  had  not  the  moon  come  to  his  res 
cue.  It  climbed  slowly  out  of  the  sea  and 
sent  a  shimmer  of  silver  and  gold  over  the 
water,  across  the  deck,  and  into  his  eyes. 
He  forgot  himself  and  the  crowd.  The 
stream  of  mystical  romance  that  flows 
through  the  veins  of  every  true  Irishman 
was  never  lacking  in  Sandy.  His  heart  re 
sponded  to  the  beautiful  as  surely  as  the 
echo  answers  the  call. 

He  seized  the  guitar,  and  picking  out  the 
notes  with  clumsy,  faltering  fingers,  sang: 

"  Ah  !    The  moment  was  sad  when  my  love  and 

I  parted, 
Savourneen  deelish,  signan  O  !  " 

His  boyish  voice  rang  out  clear  and  true, 
softening  on  the  refrain  to  an  indescribable 
tenderness  that  steeped  the  old  song  in  the 
very  essence  of  mystery  and  love. 

"As  I  kiss'd  off  her  tears,  I  was  nigh  broken 
hearted  ! — 
Savourneen  deelish,  signan  0  !  " 

28 


On  Shipboard 

He  could  remember  his  mother  singing 
him  to  sleep  by  it,  and  the  bright  red  of  her 
lips  as  they  framed  the  words : 

"  Wan  was  her  cheek  which  hung  on  my 

shoulder  ; 

Chill  was  her  hand,  no  marble  was  colder ; 
I  felt  that  again  I  should  never  behold  her ; 
Savourneen  deelish,  signan  0  !  " 

As  the  song  trembled  to  a  close,  a  slight 
burst  of  applause  came  from  the  cabin  deck. 
Sandy  looked  up,  frowned,  and  bit  his  lip. 
He  did  not  know  why,  but  he  was  sorry  he 
had  sung. 

The  next  morning  the  America  sailed  into 
New  York  harbor,  band  playing  and  flags 
flying.  She  was  bringing  home  a  record 
and  a  jubilant  crew.  On  the  upper  decks 
passengers  were  making  merry  over  what 
is  probably  the  most  joyful  parting  in  the 
world.  In  the  steerage  all  was  bustle  and 
confusion  and  anticipation  of  the  disem 
barking. 

Eagerly,  wistfully  watching  it  all,  stood 
Sandy,  as  alert  and  distressed  as  a  young 

29 


Sandy 

hound  restrained  from  the  hunt.  It  is  some 
thing  to  accept  punishment  gracefully,  but 
to  accept  punishment  when  it  can  be  avoided 
is  nothing  short  of  heroism.  Sandy  had  to 
shut  his  eyes  and  grip  the  railing  to  keep 
from  planning  an  escape.  Spread  before 
him  in  brave  array  across  the  water  lay  the 
promised  land— and,  like  Moses,  he  was  not 
to  reach  it. 

"That  's  the  greatest  city  in  America, " 
said  the  ship's  surgeon  as  he  came  up  to 
where  he  was  standing.  "What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"I  never  seen  one  stand  on  end  afore!" 
exclaimed  Sandy,  amazed. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  ashore  long 
enough  to  look  about?"  asked  the  doctor, 
with  a  smile  running  around  the  fat  folds 
of  his  cheeks. 

"And  would  I?"  asked  Sandy,  his  eyes 
flying  open.  "It  's  me  word  of  honor  I  'd 
give  you  that  I  'd  come  back." 

"The  word  of  a  stowaway,  eh?"  asked 
the  doctor,  still  smiling. 

30 


On  Shipboard 

In  a  moment  Sandy's  face  was  crimson. 
"Whatever  I  be,  sir,  I  ain't  a  liar!" 

The  doctor  pursed  up  his  lips  in  comical 
dismay:  "Not  so  hot,  my  man;  not  so  hot! 
So  you  still  want  to  be  a  doctor ! ' ' 

Sandy  cooled  down  sufficiently  to  say  that 
it  was  the  one  ambition  of  his  life. 

"I  know  the  physician  in  charge  of  the 
City  Hospital  here  in  New  York.  He  's  a 
good  fellow.  He  'd  put  you  through— give 
you  work  and  put  you  in  the  way  of  going 
to  the  Medical  School.  You  'd  like  that!" 

"But,"  cried  Sandy,  bewildered  but 
hopeful,  * '  I  have  to  go  back ! ' ' 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "No,  you 
don't.  I  've  paid  your  passage." 

Sandy  waited  a  moment  until  the  full  im 
port  of  the  words  was  taken  in,  then  he 
grabbed  the  stout  little  doctor  and  almost 
lifted  him  off  his  feet. 

"Oh!  But  ain't  you  a  brick!"  he  cried 
fervently,  adding  earnestly:  "It  ain't  a 
present  you  're  makin'  me,  though!  I  '11 
pay  it  back,  so  help  me  bob ! ' ' 

31 


Sandy 


At  the  pier  the  crowd  of  immigrants 
pushed  and  crowded  impatiently  as  they 
waited  for  the  cabin  passengers  to  go 
ashore.  Among  them  was  Sandy,  bare 
headed  and  in  motley  garb,  laughing  and 
shoving  with  the  best  of  them,  hanging 
over  the  railing,  and  keeping  up  a  fire  of 
merriment  at  the  expense  of  the  crowd  be 
low.  In  his  hand  was  a  letter  of  recom 
mendation  to  the  physician  in  charge  at  the 
City  Hospital,  and  in  his  inside  pocket  a 
ten-dollar  bill  was  buttoned  over  a  heart 
that  had  not  a  care  in  the  world.  In  the 
great  stream  of  life  Sandy  was  one  of  the 
bubbles  that  are  apt  to  come  to  the  top. 

1 '  You  better  come  down  to  Kentucky  with 
me,"  urged  Ricks  Wilson,  resuming  an  old 
argument.  "I  'm  goin'  to  peddle  my  way 
back  home,  then  git  a  payin'  job  at  the  race 
track." 

"Was  n't  I  tellin'  ye  that  it  was  a  doctor 
I  'm  goin'  to  be?"  asked  Sandy,  impa 
tiently.  Already  Ricks 's  friendship  was 
proving  irksome. 

32 


On  Shipboard 

On  the  gang-plank  above  him  the  passen 
gers  were  leaving  the  ship.  Some  delay  had 
arisen,  and  for  a  moment  the  procession 
halted.  Suddenly  Sandy  caught  his  breath. 
There,  just  above  him,  stood  "the  damsel 
passing  fair."  Instead  of  the  tam-o'-shan 
ter  she  wore  a  big  drooping  hat  of  brown, 
which  just  matched  the  curls  that  were 
loosely  tied  at  the  back  of  her  neck. 

Sandy  stood  motionless  and  humbly 
adored  her.  He  was  a  born  lover,  lavish 
ing  his  affection,  without  discrimination  or 
calculation,  upon  whatever  touched  his 
heart.  It  surely  was  no  harm  just  to  stand 
aside  and  look.  He  liked  the  way  she  car 
ried  her  head;  he  liked  the  way  her  eyes 
went  up  a  little  at  the  outer  corners,  and 
the  round,  soft  curve  of  her  chin.  She  was 
gazing  steadfastly  ahead  of  her  down  the 
gang-plank,  and  he  ventured  a  step  nearer 
and  continued  his  observations.  As  he  did 
so,  he  made  a  discovery.  The  soft  white  of 
her  cheek  was  gradually  becoming  pinker 
and  pinker;  the  color  which  began  under 


Sandy 

her  lace  collar  stole  up  and  up  until  it 
reached  her  eyes,  which  still  gazed  deter 
minedly  before  her. 

Sandy  admired  it  as  a  traveler  admires 
a  sunrise,  and  with  as  little  idea  of  having 
caused  it. 

The  line  of  passengers  moved  slowly  for 
ward,  and  his  heart  sank.  Suddenly  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  little  hand-bag  which  she 
carried.  On  one  end,  in  small  white  letters, 
was:  "Buth  Nelson,  Kentucky,  U.  S.  A." 
He  watched  her  until  she  was  lost  to  view, 
then  he  turned  eagerly  back  into  the  crowd. 
Elbowing  his  way  forward,  he  seized  Bicks 
by  the  arm. 

"Hi,  there !"  he  cried;  "I  ?ve  changed 
me  mind.  I  'm  goin'  with  you  to  Ken 
tucky  I" 

So  this  impetuous  knight  errant  enlisted 
under  the  will-o'-the-wisp  love,  and  started 
joyously  forth  upon  his  quest. 


34 


CHAPTER  III 


THE   CURSE   OF   WEALTH 

T  is  an  oft-proved  adage  that 
for  ten  who  can  stand  adver 
sity  there  is  but  one  who  can 
stand  prosperity.  Sandy, 
alas!  was  no  exception  to 
any  rule  which  went  to  prove  the  frailty  of 
human  nature.  The  sudden  acquisition  of 
ten  dollars  cast  him  into  a  whirlpool  of 
temptation  from  which  he  made  little  effort 
to  escape. 

"I  ain't  goin'  on  to-day, "  announced 
Ricks.  "I  'm  goin'  to  lay  in  my  goods  for 
peddlin'.  I  reckon  you  kin  come  along  of 
me." 

Sandy  accepted  a  long  and  strong  cigar, 
tilted  his  hat,  and  unconsciously  caught 
Ricks 's  slouching  gait  as  they  went  down 

35 


Sandy 

the  street.  After  all,  it  was  rather  pleasant 
to  associate  with  sophistication. 

"We  '11  git  on  the  outside  of  a  little  din 
ner/  '  said  Ricks;  "and  I  '11  mosey  round 
in  the  stores  awhile,  then  I  '11  take  you  to 
a  show  or  two.  It  's  a  mighty  good  thing 
for  you  that  you  got  me  along. " 

Sandy  thought  so  too.  He  cheerfully 
stood  treat  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  felt 
that  it  was  small  return  for  Ricks 's  conde 
scension. 

"How  much  you  got  left?"  asked  Ricks, 
that  night,  as  they  stopped  under  a  street 
light  to  take  stock. 

Sandy  held  out  a  couple  of  dollars  and  a 
fifty-cent  piece. 

"Enough  to  put  on  the  eyes  of  two  and 
a  half  dead  men,"  he  said  as  he  curiously 
eyed  the  strange  money. 

"One,  two,— two  and  a  half,"  counted 
Ricks. 

"Shillings?"  asked  Sandy,  amazed. 

Ricks  nodded. 

"And  have  I  blowed  all  that  to-day?" 

36 


The  Curse  of  Wealth 

< ' What  of  it!"  asked  Ricks.  "I  seen  a 
bloke  onct  what  lit  his  cigar  with  a  bill 
like  the  one  you  had!" 

"But  the  doctor  said  it  was  two  pounds," 
insisted  Sandy,  incredulously.  He  did  not 
realize  the  expense  of  a  personally  con 
ducted  tour  of  the  Bowery. 

' '  Well,  it  's  went, ' '  said  Ricks,  resignedly. 
"You  can't  count  on  settin'  up  biz  with 
what  's  left." 

Sandy's  brows  clouded,  and  he  shifted 
his  position  restlessly.  ' '  Now  I  ax  yerself , 
Ricks,  what  'u'd  you  do?"  he  said. 

"Me?  I  don't  give  advice  to  nobody. 
But  effen  it  was  me  I  'd  know  mighty  quick 
what  to  do." 

"What?"  said  Sandy,  eagerly. 

"Buy  a  dawg." 

"A  dog?    I  ain't  goin'  blind." 

"Lor'!  but  you  're  a  sof thorn,"  said 
Ricks,  contemptuously.  "I  s'pose  you  'd 
count  on  leadin'  him  round  by  a  pink 
ribbon. ' ' 

"Oh,  you  mean  a  fighter?" 

37 


Sandy 

"Sure.  My  last  dawg  could  do  ever'- 
thing  in  sight.  She  was  so  game  she  went 
after  herself  in  a  lookin '-glass  and  got  kilt. 
Oh,  they  's  money  in  dawgs,  and  I  knows 
how  to  make  'em  win  ever'  time." 

Sandy,  tired  as  he  was  from  the  day's 
excitement,  insisted  upon  going  in  search 
of  one  at  once.  He  already  had  visions  of 
becoming  the  proud  owner  of  a  canine 
champion  that  would  put  him  immediately 
into  the  position  of  lighting  his  cigar  with 
a  two-pound  note. 

The  first  three  weeks  of  their  experience 
on  the  road  went  far  to  realize  their  ex 
pectations.  The  bulldog,  which  had  been 
bought  in  partnership,  proved  a  conquer 
ing  hero.  Through  the  long  summer  days 
the  boys  tramped  over  the  country,  peddling 
their  wares,  and  by  night  they  conducted 
sundry  unlawful  encounters  wherever  an 
opponent  could  be  found. 

Sandy  enjoyed  the  peddling.  It  was  as 
tonishing  what  friendly  sociability  and  con 
fidential  intimacy  were  established  by  the 

38 


The  Curse  of  Wealth 

sale  of  blue  suspenders  and  pink  soap.  He 
left  a  line  of  smiling  testimonials  in  his 
wake. 

But  if  the  days  were  proving  satisfactory, 
so  much  could  not  be  said  of  the  nights. 
Even  the  phenomenal  luck  that  followed 
his  dog  failed  to  keep  up  his  enthusiasm. 

"You  ain't  a  nachrul  sport, "  complained 
Eicks.  "That  's  your  trouble.  When  the 
last  fight  was  on,  you  set  on  the  fence  and 
listened  at  a'  ole  idiot  scrapin'  a  fiddle 
down  in  the  valley/7 

Sandy  made  a  feeble  defense,  but  he  knew 
in  his  soul  it  was  so. 

Affairs  reached  a  climax  one  night  in  an 
old  barn  on  the  outskirts  of  a  town.  A  fight 
was  about  to  begin  when  Sandy  discovered 
Eicks  judiciously  administering  a  sedative 
to  the  enemy 's  dog. 

Then  understanding  dawned  upon  him, 
and  his  rage  was  elemental.  With  a  valor 
that  lacked  the  better  part  of  discretion,  he 
hurled  himself  through  the  crowd  and  fell 
upon  Eicks. 

3  39 


Sandy 

An  hour  later,  bruised,  bloody,  and  van 
quished,  he  stumbled  along  through  the 
dreary  night.  Hot  with  rage  and  defeat, 
utterly  ignorant  of  his  whereabouts,  his  one 
friend  turned  foe,  he  was  indeed  in  sorry 
plight. 

He  climbed  over  the  fence  and  lay  face 
downward  in  the  long,  cool  grass,  stretch 
ing  his  bruised  and  aching  body  along  the 
ground.  A  gentle  night  wind  rustled  above 
him,  and  by  and  by  a  star  peeped  out,  then 
another  and  another.  Before  he  knew  it, 
he  was  listening  to  the  frogs  and  katydids, 
and  wondering  what  they  were  talking 
about.  He  ceased  to  think  about  Bicks  and 
his  woes,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  deli 
cious,  drowsy  peace  that  was  all  about  him. 
For,  child  of  nature  that  he  was,  he  had 
turned  to  the  only  mother  he  knew. 


40 


CHAPTER  IV 


SIDE-TRACKED 

HE  next  morning,  at  the  near 
est  railroad  station,  an  irate 
cattleman  was  trying  to  hire 
some  one  to  take  charge  of  a 
car  of  live  stock  which  was 
on  its  way  to  a  great  exposition  in  a  neigh 
boring  city.  The  man  he  had  counted  on 
had  not  appeared,  and  the  train  was  about 
due. 

As  he  was  turning  away  in  desperation 
he  felt  a  tug  at  his  elbow.  Looking  around, 
he  saw  a  queer  figure  with  a  countenance 
that  resembled  a  first  attempt  at  a  charcoal 
sketch  from  life :  one  cheek  was  larger  than 
the  other,  the  mouth  was  sadly  out  of  draw 
ing,  the  eyes  shone  out  from  among  the 
bruises  like  the  sun  from  behind  the  clouds. 

41 


Sandy 

But  if  the  features  were  disfigured,  the 
smile  was  none  the  less  courageous. 

Sandy  had  found  a  friendly  sympathizer 
at  a  neighboring  farm-house,  had  been  given 
a  good  breakfast,  had  made  his  toilet,  and 
was  ready  for  the  next  round  in  the  fight 
of  life. 

"I  '11  be  doin'  yer  job,  sir,  whatever  it 
is, ' '  he  said  pleasantly. 

The  man  eyed  him  with  misgiving,  but 
his  need  was  urgent. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  stay  in  the  car 
and  look  after  the  cattle.  My  man  will  meet 
you  when  you  reach  the  city.  Do  you  think 
you  can  do  it?" 

"Just  keep  company  with  the  cows?" 
cried  Sandy.  * i  Sure  and  I  can ! ' ' 

So  the  bargain  was  struck,  and  that  night 
found  him  in  the  great  city  with  a  dollar  in 
his  pocket  and  a  promise  of  work  in  the 
morning. 

Tired  and  sore  from  the  experiences  of 
the  night  before,  he  sought  a  cheap  lodging- 
house  near  by.  A  hook-nosed  woman,  car- 

42 


Side-tracked 

rying  a  smoking  lamp,  conducted  him  to  a 
room  under  the  eaves.  It  was  small  and 
suffocating.  He  involuntarily  lifted  his 
hands  and  touched  the  ceiling. 

"It  >s  like  a  boilin'  potato  I  feel,"  he 
said ;  ' '  and  the  pot  's  so  little  and  the  lid  so 
tight  I" 

He  went  to  the  window,  and  taking  out 
the  nail  that  held  down  the  sash,  pushed 
it  up.  Below  him  lay  the  great,  bustling 
city,  cabs  and  cars  in  constant  motion,  long 
lines  of  blazing  lights  marking  the  thor 
oughfares,  the  thunder  of  trains  in  the  big 
station,  and  above  and  below  and  through 
it  all  a  dull  monotonous  roar,  like  the  far 
away  unceasing  cry  of  a  hungry  beast. 

He  sank  on  his  knees  by  the  window,  and 
a  restless,  nervous  look  came  into  his  eyes. 

"It  presses  in,  too,"  he  thought.  "It  7s 
all  crowdin'  over  me.  I  'm  just  me  by  my 
self,  all  alone. ' '  A  tear  made  a  white  course 
down  his  grimy  cheek,  then  another  and  an 
other.  He  brushed  them  impatiently  away 
with  the  cap  he  still  held  in  his  hand. 

43 


Sandy 

Rising  abruptly,  he  turned  away  from  the 
window,  and  the  hot  air  of  the  room  again 
smote  him.  The  smoking  lamp  had  black 
ened  the  chimney,  and  as  he  bent  to  turn  it 
down,  he  caught  his  reflection  in  a  small 
mirror  over  the  table.  What  the  bruises 
and  swelling  had  left  undone  the  cheap  mir 
ror  completed.  He  started  back.  Was  that 
the  boy  he  knew  as  himself?  Was  that 
Sandy  Kilday  who  had  come  to  America  to 
seek  his  fortune?  He  stared  in  a  sort  of 
fascinated  horror  at  that  other  boy  in  the 
mirror.  Before  he  had  been  afraid  to  be  by 
himself,  now  he  was  afraid  of  himself. 

He  seized  his  cap,  and  blowing  out  the 
lamp,  plunged  down  four  flights  of  steep 
narrow  steps  and  out  into  the  street.  A 
number  of  people  were  crowding  into  a 
street-car  marked  l  i  Exposition. ' '  Sandy, 
ever  a  straw  in  the  current,  joined  them. 
Once  more  down  among  his  fellow-men,  he 
began  to  feel  more  comfortable.  He  cheer 
fully  paid  his  entrance  fee  with  one  of  the 
two  silver  coins  in  his  pocket. 

44 


Side-tracked, 

The  first  building  he  entered  was  the  art 
gallery,  and  the  first  picture  that  caught  his 
eye  held  him  spellbound.  He  sat  before  it 
all  the  evening  with  fascinated  eyes,  devour 
ing  every  detail  and  oblivious  to  the  curi 
ous  interest  he  was  attracting ;  for  the  huge 
canvas  represented  the  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table,  and  he  had  at  last  found 
friends. 

All  the  way  back  he  thought  about  the 
picture ;  it  was  not  until  he  reached  his  room 
that  the  former  loneliness  returned. 

But  even  then  it  was  not  for  long.  A 
pair  of  yellow  eyes  peered  around  the  win 
dow-sill,  and  a  plaintive  "meow"  begged 
for  admittance.  It  was  plainly  Providence 
that  guided  that  thin  and  ill-treated  kitten 
to  Sandy's  window.  The  welcome  it  re 
ceived  must  have  completely  restored  its 
shaken  faith  in  human  nature.  Tired  as 
he  was,  Sandy  went  out  and  bought  some 
milk.  He  wanted  to  establish  a  firm 
friendship;  for  if  he  was  to  stay  in  this 
lonely  city,  he  must  have  something  to 

45 


Sandy 

love,  if  only  a  prodigal  kitten  of  doubtful 
pedigree. 

During  the  long,  hot  days  that  followed 
Sandy  worked  faithfully  at  the  depot.  The 
regular  hours  and  confinement  seemed 
doubly  irksome  after  the  bohemian  life  on 
the  road. 

The  Exposition  was  his  salvation.  No 
sacrifice  seemed  too  great  to  enable  him 
to  get  beyond  that  magic  gate.  For  the 
" Knights  of  the  Round  Table"  was  but  the 
beginning  of  miles  and  miles  of  wonder 
ful  pictures.  He  even  bought  a  catalogue, 
and,  prompted  by  a  natural  curiosity  for 
anything  that  interested  him,  learned  the 
names  of  the  artists  he  liked  best,  and  the 
bits  of  biography  attached  to  each.  He 
would  recite  these  to  the  yellow  kitten 
when  he  got  back  to  his  little  hot-box  of  a 
room. 

One  night  the  art  gallery  was  closed,  and 
he  went  into  another  big  building  where  a 
crowd  of  people  were  seated.  At  one  end  of 
it  was  a  great  pipe-organ,  and  after  a  while 

46 


Side-tracked 

some  one  began  to  play.  With  his  cap 
tightly  grasped  in  both  hands,  he  tiptoed 
down  the  center  aisle  and  stood  breathlessly 
drinking  in  the  wonderful  tones  that  seemed 
to  be  coming  from  his  own  heart. 

* '  Get  out  of  the  way,  boy, ' '  said  an  usher. 
"You  are  blocking  the  aisle. " 

A  queer-appearing  lady  who  looked  like 
a  man  touched  his  elbow. 

"Here  's  a  seat/'  she  said  in  a  deep 
voice. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Sandy,  absently. 

He  scarcely  knew  whether  he  was  sitting 
or  standing.  He  only  wanted  to  be  let  alone, 
so  that  he  could  listen  to  those  strange,  beau 
tiful  sounds  that  made  a  shiver  of  joy  go 
down  his  back.  Art  had  had  her  day ;  it  was 
Music's  turn. 

When  the  last  number  had  been  played, 
he  turned  to  the  queer  lady: 

"Do  they  do  it  every  night  f" 

She  smiled  at  his  enthusiasm:  "Wednes 
days  and  Saturdays. " 

"Say,"   said  Sandy,   confidentially,    "if 

47 


Sandy 

you  come  first  do  you  save  me  a  seat,  and 
I  '11  do  the  same  by  you. ' ' 

From  that  time  on  he  decided  to  be  a 
musician,  and  he  lived  on  two  scanty  meals 
a  day  in  order  to  attend  the  concerts. 

But  this  exalted  scheme  of  high  thinking 
and  plain  living  soon  became  irksome.  One 
day,  when  his  loneliness  weighed  most 
heavily  upon  him,  he  was  sent  with  a  mes 
sage  out  to  the  switch-station.  As  he 
tramped  back  along  the  track  he  spied  a 
familiar  figure  ahead  of  him.  There  was 
no  mistaking  that  short,  slouching  body  with 
the  peddler's  pack  strapped  on  its  back. 
With  a  cry  of  joy,  Sandy  bounded  after 
Ricks  Wilson.  He  actually  hugged  him  in 
his  joy  to  be  once  more  with  some  one  he 
knew. 

Ricks  glanced  uneasily  at  the  scar  above 
his  eye. 

Sandy  clapped  his  hand  over  it  and 
laughed.  "It  's  all  right,  Ricks;  a  miss  is 
as  good  as  a  mile.  I  ain't  mad  any  more. 
It  's  straight  home  with  me  you  are  goin'; 

48 


Side-tracked 

and  if  we  can  get  the  two  feet  of  you  into 
me  bit  of  a  room,  we  '11  have  a  dinner  that  's 
fit  for  a  king. " 

On  the  way  they  laid  in  a  supply  of  pro 
visions,  Sandy  even  going  to  the  expense 
of  a  bottle  of  beer  for  Eicks. 

The  yellow  kitten  arched  her  back  and 
showed  general  signs  of  hostility  when  the 
stranger  was  introduced.  But  her  un 
friendly  demonstrations  were  ignored. 
Eicks  was  the  honored  guest,  and  Sandy 
extended  to  him  the  full  hospitality  of  the 
establishment. 

"Put  your  pack  on  the  floor  and  yerself 
in  the  chair,  and  I  '11  get  ye  filled  up  in  the 
blink  of  an  eyelash.  Don 't  be  mindin '  the  cat, 
Eicks.  She  's  just  lettin'  on  she  don't  take 
to  you.  She  give  me  the  wink  on  the  sly. ' ' 

Eicks,  expanding  under  the  influence  of 
food  and  drink,  became  eloquent.  He  re 
counted  courageous  adventures  of  the  past, 
and  outlined  marvelous  schemes  for  the  fu 
ture,  by  which  he  was  going  to  make  a  short 
cut  to  fame  and  glory. 

49 


Sandy 

When  it  was  time  for  him  to  go,  Sandy 
heaved  a  sigh  of  regret.  For  two  hours  he 
had  been  beguiled  by  Ricks 's  romances,  and 
now  he  had  to  go  back  to  the  humdrum 
duties  at  the  depot,  and  receive  a  sound  rat 
ing  for  his  belated  appearance. 

' '  Which  way  might  you  be  goin ',  Ricks  ? ' ' 
he  asked  wistfully. 

"Same  place  I  started  fer,"  said  Ricks. 
"  Kentucky. " 

The  will-o'-the-wisp,  which  had  been  hid 
ing  his  light,  suddenly  swung  it  full  in  the 
eyes  of  Sandy.  Once  more  he  saw  the  little 
maid  of  his  dreams,  and  once  more  he  threw 
discretion  to  the  winds  and  followed  the 
vision. 

Hastily  collecting  his  few  possessions,  he 
rolled  them  into  a  bundle,  and  slipping  the 
surprised  kitten  into  his  pocket,  he  gladly 
followed  Ricks  once  more  out  into  the  broad 
green  meadows,  along  the  white  and  shin 
ing  roads  that  lead  over  the  hills  to  Ken 
tucky. 


50 


CHAPTER  V 

SANDY  RETIRES  FROM  BUSINESS 

I  HIS  here  is  too  blame  slow 
fer  me,"  said  Ricks,  one 
chilly  night  in  late  Septem 
ber,  as  he  and  Sandy  hud 
dled  against  a  haystack  and 
settled  up  their  weekly  accounts. 

"Fifty-five  cents!  Now  ain't  that  a' 
o'nery  dab?  Here  's  a  quarter  fer  you  and 
thirty  cents  fer  me;  that  's  as  even  as  you 
kin  split  it." 

"It  's  the  microscopes  that  '11  be  sellin ', ' ' 
said  Sandy,  hopefully,  as  he  pulled  his  coat 
collar  about  his  ears  and  shivered.  "The 
man  as  sold  'em  to  me  said  they  was  a  great 
bargain  entirely.  He  thought  there  was 
money  in  'em." 

"For  him,"  said  Ricks,  contemptuously. 

51 


Sandy 

"It  's  like  the  man  what  gulled  us  on  the 
penknives.  I  lay  to  git  even  with  him,  all 
right. " 

".But  he  give  us  the  night's  lodgin'  and 
some  breakfast, "  said  Sandy. 

Ricks  took  a  long  drink  from  a  short  bot 
tle,  then  holding  it  before  him,  he  said  im 
pressively:  "A  feller  could  do  me  ninety- 
nine  good  turns,  and  if  he  done  me  one  bad 
one  it  would  wipe  'em  all  out.    I  got  to  git 
even  with  anybody  what  does  me  dirty,  if 
it  takes  me  all  my  life. ' ' 
"But  don't  you  forget  to  remember?" 
' '  Not  me.    I  ain  't  that  kind. ' ' ' 
Sandy  leaned  wearily  against  the  hay 
stack  and  tried  to  shelter  himself  from  the 
wind.    A  continued  diet  of  bread  and  water 
had  made  him  sensitive  to  the  changes  in 
the  weather. 

"This  here  grub  is  kinder  hard  on  yer 
head-rails,"  said  Eicks,  trying  to  bite 
through  a  piece  of  stale  bread.  A  baker 
had  let  them  have  three  loaves  for  a  dime 
because  they  were  old  and  hard. 

52 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

Sandy  cast  a  longing  look  at  Ricks  's  short 
bottle.  It  seemed  to  remedy  so  many  ills, 
heat  or  cold,  thirst  or  hunger.  But  the  strict 
principles  applied  during  his  tender  years 
made  him  hesitate. 

"I  wish  we  had  n't  lost  the  kitten,"  he 
said,  feeling  the  need  of  a  more  cheerful 
companion. 

"I  'm  a-goin'  to  git  another  dawg,"  an 
nounced  Kicks.  "I  'm  sick  of  this  here 
doin's." 

" Ain't  we  goin'  to  be  turfmen?"  asked 
Sandy,  who  had  listened  by  the  hour  to 
thrilling  accounts  of  life  on  the  track,  and 
had  accepted  Ricks 's  ambition  as  his  own. 

"Not  on  twenty  cents  per  week,"  growled 
Ricks. 

Sandy's  heart  sank;  he  knew  what  a  new 
dog  meant.  He  burrowed  in  the  hay  and 
tried  to  sleep,  but  there  was  a  queer  pain 
that  seemed  to  catch  hold  of  his  breath 
whenever  he  breathed  down  deep. 

It  rained  the  next  day,  and  they  tramped 
disconsolately  through  village  after  village. 

53 


Sandy 

They  had  oil-cloth  covers  for  their  bas 
kets,  but  their  own  backs  were  soaked  to 
the  skin. 

Toward  evening  they  came  to  the  top  of 
a  hill,  from  which  they  could  look  directly 
down  upon  a  large  town  lying  comfortably 
in  the  crook  of  a  river's  elbow.  The  rain 
had  stopped,  and  the  belated  sun,  struggling 
through  the  clouds,  made  up  for  lost  time 
by  reflecting  itself  in  every  curve  of  the 
winding  stream,  in  every  puddle  along  the 
road,  and  in  every  pane  of  glass  that  faced 
the  west. 

"That  's  a  nobby  hoss,"  said  Ricks, 
pointing  down  the  hill.  "What  Js  the  mat 
ter  with  the  feller?" 

A  slight,  delicate-looking  young  man  was 
lying  in  the  road,  between  the  horse  and  the 
fence.  As  the  boys  came  up  he  stirred  and 
tried  to  rise. 

"He  's  off  his  nut,"  said  Ricks,  starting 
to  pass  on;  but  Sandy  stopped. 

"Get  a  fall?"  he  asked. 

The   strange   boy   shook  his   head.     "I 

54 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

guess  I  fainted.  I  must  have  ridden  too 
hard.  I  '11  be  all  right  in  a  minute.7'  He 
leaned  his  head  against  a  tree  and  closed 
his  eyes. 

Sandy  eyed  him  curiously,  taking  in  all 
the  details  of  his  riding-costume  down  to 
the  short  whip  with  the  silver  mounting. 

"I  say,  Ricks,"  he  called  to  his  compan 
ion,  who  was  inspecting  the  horse,  " can't 
we  do  somethin'  for  him!" 

Eicks  reluctantly  produced  the  short 
bottle. 

"I  'm  all  right,"  insisted  the  boy,  "if 
you  '11  just  give  me  a  lift  to  the  saddle." 
But  his  eager  eyes  followed  the  bottle,  and 
before  Eicks  had  returned  it  to  his  pocket  he 
held  out  his  hand.  "I  believe  I  will  take  a 
drink  if  you  don't  mind."  He  drained  the 
contents  and  then  handed  a  coin  to  Eicks. 

"Now,  if  you  '11  help  me,"  continued 
the  stranger.  "There!  Thank  you  very 
much. ' ' 

"Say,  what  town  is  this,  anyway?"  asked 
Eicks. 

4  55 


Sandy 

"Clayton,"  said  the  boy,  trying  to  keep 
his  horse  from  backing. 

"Looks  like  somethin'  was  doin',"  said 
Ricks. 

"Circus,  I  believe." 

"Then  I  don't  blame  your  nag  for  want- 
in7  to  go  back!"  cried  Sandy.  "Come  on, 
Ricks;  let  's  take  in  the  show!" 

Half-way  down  the  hill  he  turned. 
"Have  n't  we  seen  that  fellow  before, 
Ricks?" 

"Not  as  I  knows  of.  He  looked  kinder 
pale  and  shaky,  but  you  bet  yer  life  he 
knowed  how  to  hit  the  bottle." 

"He  was  sick,"  urged  Sandy. 

"An'  thirsty,"  added  Ricks,  with  a  smile 
of  superior  wisdom. 

The  circus  seemed  such  a  timely  oppor 
tunity  to  do  business  that  they  decided  to 
rent  a  stand  that  night  and  sell  their  wares 
on  the  street  corner.  Ricks  went  on  into 
town  to  arrange  matters,  while  Sandy 
stopped  in  a  grocery  to  buy  their  supper. 
His  interest  in  the  show  had  been  of  short 

56 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

duration.  He  felt  listless  and  tired,  some 
thing  seemed  to  be  buzzing  continually  in 
his  head,  and  he  shivered  in  his  damp 
clothes.  In  the  grocery  he  sat  on  a  barrel 
and  leaned  his  head  against  the  wall. 

4 'What  you  shivering  about?'7  asked  the 
fat  woman  behind  the  counter,  as  she  tied 
up  his  small  package. 

"I  feel  like  me  skeleton  was  doin'  a  jig 
inside  of  me,"  said  Sandy  through  chatter 
ing  teeth. 

" Looks  to  me  like  you  got  a  chill,"  said 
the  fat  woman.  "  You  wait  here,  and  I'  '11 
go  git  you  some  hot  coffee. ' ' 

She  disappeared  in  the  rear  of  the  store, 
and  soon  returned  with  a  small  coffee-pot 
and  a  cup  and  saucer.  Sandy  drank  two 
cups  and  a  half,  then  he  asked  the  price. 

61  Price?"  repeated  the  woman,  indig 
nantly.  "I  reckon  you  don't  know  which 
side  of  the  Ohio  River  you  're  on ! " 

Sandy  made  up  in  gratitude  what  she  de 
clined  in  cash,  and  started  on  his  way.  At 
the  corner  of  Main  street  and  the  bridge  he 

57 


Sandy 

found  Kicks,  who  had  rented  a  stand  and 
was  already  arranging  his  wares.  Sandy 
knelt  on  the  sidewalk  and  unpacked  his 
basket. 

4 'Only  three  bars  of  soap  and  seventy- 
five  microscopes ! ' '  he  exclaimed  ruefully. 
"Let  's  be  layin'  fine  stress  on  the  micro 
scopes,  Ricks." 

"You  do  the  jawin',  Sandy.  I  ain't  much 
on  givin '  'em  the  talk, ' '  said  Ricks.  ' '  Chuck 
a  jolly  at  'em  and  keep  'em  hangin'  round." 

As  dark  came  on,  trade  began.  The  three 
bars  of  soap  were  sold,  and  a  purple  neck 
tie.  Sandy  saw  that  public  taste  must  be 
guided  in  the  proper  direction.  He  stepped 
up  on  a  box  and  began  eloquently  to  enu 
merate  the  diverse  uses  of  microscopes. 

At  each  end  of  the  stand  a  flaring  torch 
lighted  up  the  scene.  The  light  fell  on  the 
careless,  laughing  faces  in  front,  on  Ricks 
Wilson,  black-browed  and  suspicious,  in  the 
rear,  and  it  fell  full  on  Sandy,  who  stood 
on  high  and  harangued  the  crowd.  It  fell 
on  his  broad,  straight  shoulders  and  on  his 

58 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

shining  tumbled  hair;  but  it  was  not  the 
light  of  the  torch  that  gave  the  brightness 
to  his  eyes  and  the  flush  to  his  cheek.  His 
head  was  throbbing,  but  he  felt  a  curious 
sense  of  elation.  He  felt  that  he  could 
stand  there  and  talk  the  rest  of  his  life.  He 
made  the  crowd  listen,  he  made  it  laugh,  he 
made  it  buy.  He  told  stories  and  sang 
songs,  he  coaxed  and  persuaded,  until  only 
a  few  microscopes  were  left  and  the  old 
cigar-box  was  heavy  with  silver. 

"Step  right  up  and  take  a  look  at  a  fly's 
leg!  Every  one  ought  to  have  a  micro 
scope  in  his  home.  When  you  get  hard  up 
it  will  make  a  dime  look  like  a  dollar,  and 
a  dollar  like  a  five-dollar  gold  piece.  Step 
right  up!  I  ain't  kiddin'  you.  Five  cents 
for  two  looks,  and  fifteen  for  the  micro 
scope." 

Suddenly  he  faltered.  At  the  edge  of  the 
crowd  he  had  recognized  two  faces.  They 
were  sensitive  slender  faces,  strangely 
alike  in  feature  and  unlike  in  expression. 
The  young  horseman  of  the  afternoon  was 

59 


Sandy 

impatiently  pushing  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  while  close  behind  him  was  a  dainty 
girl  with  brown  eyes  slightly  lifted  at  the 
outer  corners,  who  held  back  in  laughing 
wonder  to  watch  the  scene. 

"Ricks,"  said  Sandy,  lowering  his  voice 
unsteadily,  "is  this  Kentucky!" 

"Yep;  we  crossed  the  line  to-day." 

"I  can't  talk  no  more,"  said  Sandy. 
"You  '11  have  to  be  doin>  it.  I  'm  sick." 

It  was  not  only  the  fever  that  was  burn 
ing  in  his  veins,  and  making  him  bury  his 
hot  head  in  his  hands  and  wish  he  had 
never  been  born.  It  was  shame  and  hu 
miliation,  and  all  because  of  the  look  on 
the  face  of  the  girl  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd. 
He  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  big  box  and 
fought  his  fight.  The  coffee  and  the  excite 
ment  no  longer  kept  him  up;  he  was  faint, 
and  his  breath  came  short.  Above  him  he 
heard  Ricks  ?s  rasping  voice  still  talking 
to  the  few  customers  who  were  left.  He 
knew,  without  glancing  up,  just  how  Ricks 
looked  when  he  said  the  words;  he  knew 

60 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

how  his  teeth  pushed  his  lips  back,  and  how 
his  restless  little  eyes  watched  everything 
at  once.  A  sudden  fierce  repulsion  swept 
over  him  for  peddling,  for  Ricks,  for  him 
self. 

"And  to  think, "  he  whispered,  with  a  sob 
in  his  throat,  "that  I  can't  ever  speak  to  a 
girl  like  that!" 

Ricks,  jubilant  over  the  success  of  the 
evening,  decided  to  follow  the  circus,  which 
was  to  be  in  the  next  town  on  the  following 
day. 

"It  ain't  fur,"  he  said.  "We  kin  push 
on  to-night  and  be  ready  to  open  early  in 
the  morning." 

Sandy,  miserable  in  body  and  spirit,  me 
chanically  obeyed  instructions.  His  head 
was  getting  queerer  all  the  time,  and  he 
could  not  remember  whether  it  was  day  or 
night.  About  a  mile  from  Clayton  he  sank 
down  by  the  road. 

"Say,  Eicks,"  he  said  abruptly;  "I  'm 
after  quittin'  peddlin'." 

"What  you  goin'  to  do?" 

61 


Sandy 

"I  'm  goin'  to  school." 

If  Sandy  had  announced  his  intention  of 
putting  on  baby  clothes  and  being  wheeled 
in  a  perambulator,  Ricks  could  not  have 
been  more  astonished. 

"What  fer?"  he  asked  in  genuine  doubt. 

"'Cause  I  want  to  be  the  right  sort," 
burst  out  Sandy,  passionately.  "This  ain't 
the  way  you  get  to  be  the  right  sort." 

Ricks  surveyed  him  contemptuously. 
"Look-a  here,  are  you  comin'  along  of  me 
or  not?" 

"I  can't,"  said  Sandy,  weakly. 

Ricks  shifted  his  pack,  and  with  never 
a  parting  word  or  a  backward  look  he  left 
his  business  partner  of  three  months  lying 
by  the  roadside,  and  tramped  away  in  the 
darkness. 

Sandy  started  up  to  follow  him;  he  tried 
to  call,  but  he  had  no  strength.  He  lay 
with  his  face  on  the  road  and-  talked.  He 
knew  there  was  nobody  to  listen,  but  still 
he  kept  on,  softly  talking  about  microscopes 
and  pink  soap,  crying  out  again  and  again 

62 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

that  he  could  n't  ever  speak  to  a  girl  like 
that. 

After  a  long  while  somebody  came.  At 
first  he  thought  he  must  have  gone  back 
to  the  land  behind  the  peat-flames,  for  it 
was  a  great  black  witch  who  bent  over  him, 
and  he  instinctively  felt  about  in  the  grass 
for  the  tender,  soft  hand  which  he  used  to 
press  against  his  cheek.  He  found  instead 
the  hand  of  the  witch  herself,  and  he  drew 
back  in  terror. 

"Fer  de  Lawd  sake,  honey,  what  's  de 
matter  wif  you?"  asked  a  kindly  voice. 
Sandy  opened  his  eyes.  A  tall  old  negro 
woman  bent  over  him,  her  head  tied  up  in 
a  turban,  and  a  shawl  about  her  shoulders. 

"Did  you  git  runned  over?"  she  asked, 
peering  down  at  him  anxiously. 

Sandy  tried  to  explain,  but  it  was  all  the 
old  mixture  of  soap  and  microscopes  and 
never  being  able  to  speak  to  her.  He  knew 
he  was  talking  at  random,  but  he  could  not 
say  the  things  he  thought. 

"Where  'd  you  come  from,  boy?" 

63 


Sandy 

"Curragh  Chase,  Limerick/7  murmured 
Sandy. 

<  <  'Fore  de  Lawd,  he  's  done  been  cun- 
jered!"  cried  the  old  woman,  aghast.  "I  '11 
git  it  outen  of  you,  chile.  You  jus'  come 
home  wif  yer  Aunt  Melvy;  she  '11  take  keer 
of  you.  Put  yer  arm  on  my  shoulder ;  dat  's 
right.  Don't  you  mind  where  you  gwine  at. 
I  got  yer  bundle.  It  ain't  fur.  Hit  's  dat 
little  house  a-hangin'  on  de  side  of  de  hill. 
Dey  calls  it  'Who  'd  'a'  Thought  It,'  'ca'se 
you  nebber  would  'a'  thought  of  puttin'  a 
house  dere.  Dat  's  right ;  lean  on  yer  mam 
my.  I  '11  git  dem  old  cunjers  outen  you." 

Thus  encouraged  and  supported,  Sandy 
stumbled  on  through  the  dark,  up  a  hillside 
that  seemed  never  to  end,  across  a  bridge, 
then  into  a  tiny  log  cabin,  where  he  dropped 
exhausted. 

Off  and  on  during  the  night  he  knew  that 
there  was  a  fire  in  the  room,  and  that 
strange  things  were  happening  to  him.  But 
it  was  all  so  queer  and  unnatural  that  he  did 
not  know  where  the  dreams  left  off  and  the 

64 


Sandy  Retires  from  Business 

real  began.  He  was  vaguely  conscious  of 
his  left  foot  being  tied  to  the  right  bedpost, 
of  a  lock  of  his  hair  being  cut  off  and  burned 
on  the  hearth,  and  of  a  low  monotonous 
chant  that  seemed  to  rise  and  fall  with  the 
flicker  of  the  flames.  And  when  he  cried  out 
with  the  pain  in  his  sleep,  a  kindly  black 
face  bent  over  him,  and  the  chant  changed 
into  a  soothing  murmur : 

"Nebber  you  min',  sonny;  Aunt  Melvy 
gwine  git  dem  cunjers  out.  She  gwine  stay 
by  you.  You  hoi'  on  to  her  han',  an'  go  to 
sleep;  she  '11  git  dem  old  cunjers  out." 


65 


CHAPTER  VI 


HOLLIS    FAEM 

LAYTON  was  an  easy-going, 
prosperous  old  town  which, 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  youth, 
had  started  to  climb  the  long 
hill  to  the  north,  but  growing 
indolent  with  age,  had  decided  instead  to  go 
around. 

Main  street,  broad  and  shady  under  an 
unbroken  arch  of  maple  boughs,  was 
flanked  on  each  side  by  "Back  street, " 
the  generic  term  applied  to  all  the  parallel 
streets.  The  short  cross-streets  were  des 
ignated  by  the  most  direct  method:  "the 
street  by  the  Baptist  church, "  "the  street 
by  Dr.  Fenton's,"  "the  street  going  out  to 
Judge  Hollis's,"  or  "the  street  where  Mr. 
Moseley  used  to  live."  In  the  heart  of  the 

66 


Hollis  Farm 


town  was  the  square,  with  the  gray,  weather- 
beaten  court-house,  the  new  and  formidable 
jail,  the  post-office  and  church. 

For  twenty  years  Dr.  Fenton's  old  high- 
seated  buggy  had  jogged  over  the  same 
daily  course.  It  started  at  nine  o  'clock  and 
passed  with  never-varying  regularity  up 
one  street  and  down  another.  When  any 
one  was  ill  a  sentinel  was  placed  at  the  gate 
to  hail  the  doctor,  who  was  as  sure  to  pass 
as  the  passenger-train.  It  was  a  familiar 
joke  in  Clayton  that  the  buggy  had  a  reg 
ular  track,  and  that  the  wheels  always  ran 
in  the  same  rut.  Once,  when  Carter  Nelson 
had  taken  too  much  egg-nog  and  his  aunt 
thought  he  had  spinal  meningitis,  the  usual 
route  had  been  reversed,  and  again  when 
the  blacksmith's  triplets  were  born.  But 
these  were  especial  occasions.  It  was  a 
matter  for  investigation  when  the  doctor's 
buggy  went  over  the  bridge  before  noon. 

t  '  Anybody  sick  out  this  way?"  asked  the 
miller. 

The  doctor  stopped  the  buggy  to  explain. 

67 


Sandy 

He  was  a  short,  fat  man  dressed  in  a  suit 
of  Confederate  gray.  The  hand  that  held 
the  reins  was  minus  two  fingers,  his  willing 
contribution  to  the  Lost  Cause,  which  was 
still  to  him  the  great  catastrophe  of  all  his 
tory.  His  whole  personality  was  a  bris 
tling  arsenal  of  prejudices.  When  he  spoke 
it  was  in  quick,  short  volleys,  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  depths  of  a  mega 
phone. 

1  'Strange  boy  sick  at  Judge  Hollis's. 
How  's  trade !" 

"Fair  to  middling"  answered  the  miller. 
"Do  you  reckon  that  there  boy  has  got 
anything  ketchin'?" 

" Catching! "  repeated  the  doctor  sav 
agely.  "What  if  he  has?'7  he  demanded. 
"Two  epidemics  of  typhoid,  two  of  yellow 
fever,  and  one  of  smallpox— that  ?s  my 
record,  sir!" 

"Looks  like  my  children  will  ketch  a  fly- 
bite,"  said  the  miller,  apologetically. 

A  litle  farther  on  the  doctor  was  stopped 
again— this  time  by  a  maiden  in  a  pink-and- 

68 


Hollis  Farm 

white  gingham,  with  a  mass  of  light  curls 
bobbing  about  her  face. 

' '  Dad ! ' '  she  called  as  she  scrambled  over 
the  fence.  " Where  you  g- going,  dad?" 

The  doctor  flapped  the  lines  nervously 
and  tried  to  escape,  but  she  pursued  him 
madly.  Catching  up  with  the  buggy,  she 
pulled  herself  up  on  the  springs  and  thrust 
an  impudent,  laughing  face  through  the 
window  at  the  back. 

"Annette,"  scolded  her  father,  "are  n't 
you  ashamed?  Fourteen  years  old,  and  a 
tomboy !  Get  down ! ' ' 

"Where  you  g-going,  dad?"  she  stam 
mered,  unabashed. 

"To  Judge  Hollis 's.  Get  down  this 
minute ! ' ' 

"What  for?" 

' '  Somebody  's  sick.     Get  down,  I  say ! ' ' 

Instead  of  getting  down,  she  got  in,  com 
ing  straight  through  the  small  window,  and 
arriving  in  a  tangle  of  pink  and  white  at  his 
side. 

The  doctor  heaved  a  prodigious  sigh.    As 

69 


Sandy 

a  colonel  of  the  Confederacy  he  had  exacted 
strict  discipline  and  unquestioning  obedi 
ence,  but  he  now  found  himself  ignomin- 
iously  reduced  to  the  ranks,  and  another 
Fenton  in  command. 

At  Hollis  Farm  the  judge  met  them  at  the 
gate.  He  was  large  and  loose- jointed,  with 
the  frame  of  a  Titan  and  the  smile  of  a 
child.  He  wore  a  long,  loose  dressing- 
gown  and  a  pair  of  slippers  elaborately  em 
broidered  in  green  roses.  His  big,  irreg 
ular  features  were  softened  by  an  expres 
sion  of  indulgent  interest  toward  the  world 
at  large. 

' 1  Good  morning,  doctor.  Howdy,  Nettie. 
How  are  you  all  this  morning  1 ' ' 

"Who  's  sick?"  growled  the  doctor  as  he 
hitched  his  horse  to  the  fence. 

"It  's  a  stray  lad,  doctor;  my  old  cook, 
Melvy,  played  the  good  Samaritan  and 
picked  him  up  off  the  road  last  night.  She 
brought  him  to  me  this  morning.  He  's  out 
of  his  head  with  a  fever. ' ' 

"Where  'd  he  come  from?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

70 


Hollis  Farm 

4 'Mrs.  Hollis  says  he  was  peddling  goods 
up  at  Main  street  and  the  bridge  last 
night" 

" Which  one  is  he!"  demanded  Annette, 
eagerly,  as  she  emerged  from  the  buggy. 
"Is  he  g-good-looking,  with  blue  eyes  and 
light  hair!  Or  is  he  b-black  and  ugly  and 
sort  of  cross-eyed  !" 

The  judge  peered  over  his  glasses  quiz 
zically.  "Thinking  about  the  boys,  as 
usual!  Now  I  want  to  know  what  business 
you  have  noticing  the  color  of  a  peddler's 
eyes!" 

Annette  blushed,  but  she  stood  her 
ground.  "All  the  g-girls  noticed  him.  He 
was  n't  an  ordinary  peddler.  He  was  just 
as  smart  and  f-f unny  as  could  be. ' ' 

"Well,  he  is  n't  smart  and  funny  now," 
said  the  judge,  with  a  grim  laugh. 

The  two  men  passed  up  the  long  avenue 
and  into  the  house.  At  the  door  they  were 
met  by  Mrs.  Hollis,  whose  small  angular 
person  breathed  protest.  Her  black  hair 
was  arranged  in  symmetrical  bands  which 
were  drawn  tightly  back  from  a  straight 

5  71 


Sandy 

part.  When  she  talked,  a  gold-capped  tooth 
was  disclosed  on  each  side  of  her  mouth, 
giving  rise  to  the  judge's  joke  that  one  was 
capped  to  keep  the  other  company,  since 
Mrs.  Hollis's  sense  of  order  and  regularity 
rebelled  against  one  eye-tooth  of  one  color 
and  the  other  of  another. 

"Good  morning,  doctor, "  she  said 
shortly;  "there  's  the  door-mat.  No,  don't 
put  your  hat  there;  I  '11  take  it.  Is  n't  this 
a  pretty  business  for  Melvy  to  come  bring 
ing  a  sick  tramp  up  here— on  general  clean 
ing-day,  too!" 

"Are  n't  all  days  cleaning-days  to  you, 
Sue?"  asked  the  judge,  playfully. 

"When  you  are  in  the  house,"  she  an 
swered  sharply.  Then  she  turned  to  the 
doctor,  who  was  starting  up  the  stairs : 

"If  this  boy  is  in  for  a  long  spell,  I  want 
him  moved  somewhere.  I  can't  have  my 
carpets  run  over  and  my  whole  house  smell 
ing  like  a  hospital. ' ' 

"Now,  Susan,"  remonstrated  the  judge, 
gently,  "we  can't  turn  the  lad  out.  We  've 

72 


Hollis  Farm 

got  room  and  to  spare.  If  he  's  got  the 
fever,  he  '11  have  to  stay. ' ' 

"We  '11  see,  we  '11  see,"  said  the  doctor. 

But  when  he  tiptoed  down  from  the  room 
above  there  was  no  question  about  it. 

"Very  sick  boy,"  he  said,  rubbing  his 
hand  over  his  bald  head.  "  If  he  gets  better, 
I  might  take  him  over  to  Mrs.  Meech  's ;  he 
can't  be  moved  now." 

"Mrs.  Meech!"  cried  Mrs.  Hollis,  in 
fine  scorn.  "Do  you  think  I  would  let  him 
go  to  that  dirty  house— and  with  this  fever, 
too?  Why,  Mrs.  Meech 's  front  curtains 
have  n  't  been  washed  since  Christmas !  She 
and  the  preacher  and  Martha  all  sit  around 
with  their  noses  in  books,  and  never  even 
know  that  the  water-spout  is  leaking  and 
the  porch  needs  mopping!  You  can't  tell 
me  anything  about  the  Meeches ! ' ' 

Neither  of  the  men  tried  to  do  so;  they 
stood  silent  in  the  doorway,  looking  very 
grave. 

"For  mercy  sake!  what  is  that  in  the 
front  lot?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hollis. 

73 


Sandy 

The  doctor  had  an  uncomfortable  pre 
monition,  which  was  promptly  verified. 
One  of  the  judge's  friskiest  colts  was 
circling  madly  about  the  driveway,  while 
astride  of  it,  in  triumph,  sat  Annette,  her 
dress  ripped  at  the  belt,  her  hair  flying. 

"If  she  don't  need  a  woman's  hand!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Hollis.  "I  could  manage  her 
all  right." 

The  doctor  looked  from  Mrs.  Hollis,  with 
her  firm,  close-shut  mouth,  to  the  flying 
figure  on  the  lawn. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  lifting  his  brows; 
but  he  put  the  odds  on  Annette. 

That  night,  when  Aunt  Melvy  brought  the 
lamp  into  the  sitting-room,  she  waited  ner 
vously  near  Mrs.  Hollis 's  chair. 

"Miss  Sue,"  she  ventured  presently,  "is 
de  cunjers  comin'  out!" 

"The  what?" 

"De  cunjers  what  dat  pore  chile  's  got.  I 
done  tried  all  de  spells  I  knowed,  but  look 
lak  dey  did  n  't  do  no  good. ' ' 

"He  has  the  fever,"  said  Mrs.  Hollis; 

74 


liollis  Farm 

"and  it  means  a  long  spell  of  nursing  and 
bother  for  me." 

The  judge  stirred  uncomfortably.  "Now, 
Sue,"  he  remonstrated,  "you  need  n't  take 
a  bit  of  bother.  Melvy  will  see  to  him  by 
day,  and  I  will  look  after  him  at  night." 

Mrs.  Hollis  bit  her  lip  and  heroically  re 
frained  from  expressing  her  mind. 

"He  's  a  mighty  purty  chile,"  said  Aunt 
Melvy,  tentatively. 

"He  's  a  common  tramp,"  said  Mrs. 
Hollis. 

After  supper,  arranging  a  tray  with  a 
snowy  napkin  and  a  steaming  bowl  of  broth, 
Mrs.  Hollis  went  up  to  the  sick-room.  Her 
first  step  had  been  to  have  the  patient 
bathed  and  combed  and  made  presentable 
for  the  occupancy  of  the  guest-chamber.  It 
had  been  with  rebellion  of  spirit  that  she 
placed  him  there,  but  the  judge  had  taken 
one  of  those  infrequent  stands  which  she 
knew  it  was  useless  to  resist.  She  put  the 
tray  on  a  table  near  the  big  four-poster  bed, 
and  leaned  over  to  look  at  the  sleeper. 

75 


Sandy 

Sandy  lay  quiet  among  the  pillows,  his 
fair  hair  tumbled,  his  lips  parted.  As  the 
light  fell  on  his  flushed  face  he  stirred. 

"Here  's  your  supper,"  said  Mrs.  Hollis, 
her  voice  softening  in  spite  of  herself.  He 
was  younger  than  she  had  thought.  She 
slipped  her  arm  under  the  pillow  and  raised 
his  head. 

"You  must  eat,"  she  said  kindly. 

He  looked  at  her  vacantly,  then  a  mo 
mentary  consciousness  flitted  over  his  face, 
a  vague  realization  that  he  was  being  cared 
for.  He  put  up  a  hot  hand  and  gently 
touched  her  cheek;  then,  rallying  all  his 
strength,  he  smiled  away  his  debt  of  grati 
tude.  It  was  over  in  a  moment,  and  he 
sank  back  unconscious. 

Through  the  dreary  hours  of  the  night 
Mrs.  Hollis  sat  by  the  bed,  nursing  him  with 
the  aching  tenderness  that  only  a  childless 
woman  can  know.  Below,  in  the  depths  of 
a  big  feather-bed,  the  judge  slept  in  peace 
ful  unconcern,  disturbing  the  silence  by  a 
series  of  long,  loud,  and  unmelodious  snores. 

76 


"  He  smiled  away  his  debt  of  gratitude  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

CONVALESCENCE 

that  the  Nelson  phaeton  go 
ing  out  the  road?"  asked 
Mrs.  Hollis  as  she  peered 
out  through  the  dining-room 
window  one  morning.  "I 
should  n't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  it  was  Mrs. 
Nelson  making  her  yearly  visits,  and  here 
my  bricks  have  n't  been  reddened. " 

Sandy's  heart  turned  a  somersault.  He 
was  sitting  up  for  the  first  time,  wrapped 
in  blankets  and  wearing  a  cap  to  cover  his 
close-cropped  head.  All  through  his  illness 
he  had  been  tortured  by  the  thought  that  he 
had  talked  of  Ruth,  though  now  wild  horses 
could  not  have  dragged  forth  a  question 
concerning  her. 

"Melvy,"  continued  Mrs.  Hollis,  as  she 
briskly  rubbed  the  sideboard  with  some  un- 

79 


Sandy 

savory  furniture-polish,  "if  Mrs.  Nelson 
does  come  here,  you  be  sure  to  put  on  your 
white  apron  before  you  open  the  door ;  and 
for  pity  sake  don't  forget  the  card-tray! 
You  ought  to  know  better  than  to  stick  out 
your  hand  for  a  lady's  calling-card.  I  told 
you  about  that  last  week. ' ' 

Aunt  Melvy  paused  in  her  dusting  and 
chuckled:  "Lor',  honey,  dat  's  right!  You 
orter  put  on  airs  all  de  time,  wid  all  de 
money  de  judge  is  got.  He  says  to  me 
yisterday,  says  he,  ' Can't  you  'suade  yer 
Miss  Sue  not  to  be  cleanin'  up  so  much, 
an'  not  to  go  out  in  de  front  yard  wid  dat 
ole  sunbonnet  on?'  " 

' t  Well,  I  'd  like  to  know  how  things  would 
get  done  if  I  did  n't  do  them,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Hollis,  hotly.  "I  suppose  he  would 
like  me  to  let  things  go  like  the  Meeches! 
The  only  time  I  ever  saw  Mrs.  Meech  work 
was  when  she  swept  the  front  pavement,  and 
then  she  made  Martha  walk  around  behind 
her  and  read  out  loud  while  she  was  do 
ing  it." 

80 


Convalescence 

"It  's  Mr.  Meech  that  's  in  the  yard  now," 
announced  Sandy  from  the  side  window. 
' i  He  's  raking  the  leaves  with  one  hand  and 
a-reading  a  book  with  the  other. ' ' 

"I  knew  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Hollis.  "I 
never  saw  such  doings.  They  say  she  even 
leaves  the  dishes  overnight.  And  yet  she 
can  sit  on  her  porch  and  smile  at  people 
going  by,  just  like  her  house  was  cleaned 
up.  I  hate  a  hypocrite." 

Sandy  had  had  ample  time  to  watch  the 
Meeches  during  his  long  convalescence.  He 
had  been  moved  from  the  spare  room  to  a 
snug  little  room  over  the  kitchen,  which 
commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  neighbors. 
When  the  green  book  got  too  heavy  to  hold, 
or  his  eyes  grew  too  tired  to  look  at  the 
many  magazines  with  which  the  judge  sup 
plied  him,  he  would  lie  still  and  watch  the 
little  drama  going  on  next  door. 

Mrs.  Meech  was  a  large,  untidy  woman 
who  always  gave  the  impression  of  needing 
to  be  tucked  up.  The  end  of  her  gray  braid 
hung  out  behind  one  ear,  her  waist  hung  out 

81 


Sandy 

of  her  belt,  and  even  the  buttons  on  her 
shoes  hung  out  of  the  buttonholes  in  shame 
less  laziness. 

Mr.  Meech  did  not  need  tucking  in;  he 
needed  letting  out.  He  seemed  to  have 
shrunk  in  the  wash  of  life.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  three  sizes  too  small  for  his 
wife,  to  begin  with,  he  emphasized  it  by 
wearing  trousers  that  cleared  his  shoe-tops 
and  sleeves  half-way  to  his  elbows.  But 
this  was  only  on  week-days,  for  on  Sunday 
Sandy  would  see  him  emerge,  expand,  and 
flutter  forth  in  an  ample  suit  of  shiny 
broadcloth.  For  Mr.  Meech  was  the  pas 
tor  of  the  Hard-Shell  Baptist  Church  in 
Clayton,  and  if  his  domestic  economy  was  a 
matter  of  open  gossip,  there  was  no  ques 
tion  concerning  the  fact  of  his  learning.  It 
had  been  the  boast  of  the  congregation  for 
years  that  Judge  Hollis  was  the  only  man 
in  town  who  was  smart  enough  to  under 
stand  his  sermons.  When  Mr.  Meech 
started  out  in  the  morning  with  a  book 
under  his  arm  and  one  sticking  out  of  each 

82 


Convalescence 

pocket,  Sandy  would  pull  up  on  his  elbow 
to  watch  proceedings.  He  loved  to  see  fat 
Mrs.  Meech  pat  the  little  man  lovingly  on 
the  head  and  kiss  him  good-by;  he  loved  to 
see  Martha  walk  with  him  to  the  gate  and 
throw  kisses  after  him  until  he  turned  the 
curve  in  the  road. 

Martha  was  a  pale,  thin  girl  with  two 
long,  straight  plaits  and  a  long,  straight 
dress.  She  went  to  school  in  the  morning, 
and  when  she  came  home  at  noon  her  mo 
ther  always  hurried  to  meet  her  and  kissed 
her  on  both  cheeks.  Sandy  had  got  quite 
in  the  habit  of  watching  for  her  at  the  side 
window  where  she  came  to  study.  He 
leaned  forward  now  to  see  if  she  were  there. 

"I  thought  so!"  cried  Mrs.  Hollis,  look 
ing  over  his  shoulder.  "There  comes  the 
Nelson  phaeton  this  minute!  Melvy,  get 
on  your  white  apron.  I  '11  wind  up  the 
cuckoo-clock  and  unlock  the  parlor  door." 

"Who  is  it?"  ventured  Sandy,  with  in 
ternal  tremors. 

"Hit  's  Mrs.  Nelson  an'  her  niece,  Miss 

83 


Sandy 

Rufe,"  said  Aunt  Melvy,  nervously  trying 
to  reverse  her  apron  after  tying  the  bow  in 
the  front.  "Dey  's  big  bugs,  dey  is.  Dey 
is  quality,  an'  no  mistake.  I  b 'longed  to 
Miss  Rufe's  grandpaw;  he  done  lef  her 
all  his  money,  she  an'  Mr.  Carter.  Poor 
Mr.  Carter !  Dey  say  he  ain  't  got  no  lungs 
to  speak  of.  Ain't  no  wonder  he  's  sorter 
wild  like.  He  takes  after  his  grandpaw, 
my  ole  mars'.  Lor',  honey,  de  mint- 
juleps  jus'  nachelly  ooze  outen  de  pores 
ob  his  grandpaw 's  skin!  But  Miss  Rufe 
she  ain't  like  none  ob  dem  Nelsons;  she 
favors  her  maw.  She  's  quality  inside  an' 
out," 

A  peal  of  the  bell  cut  short  further  inter 
esting  revelations.  Aunt  Melvy  hurried 
through  the  hall,  leaving  doors  open  behind 
her.  At  the  front  door  she  paused  in  dis 
may.  Before  her  stood  the  Nelsons  in  call 
ing  attire,  presenting  two  immaculate  cards 
for  her  acceptance.  Too  late  she  remem 
bered  her  instructions. 

"  'Fore  de  Lawd!"  she  cried  in  conster- 

84 


Convalescence 

nation,  "ef  I  ain't  done  fergit  dat  pan 
ag'in!  " 

Sandy,  left  alone  in  the  dining-room,  was 
listening  with  every  nerve  a-quiver  for  the 
sound  of  Ruth's  voice.  The  thought  that 
she  was  here  under  the  same  roof  with  him 
sent  the  blood  bounding  through  his  veins. 
He  pulled  himself  up,  and  trailing  the 
blanket  behind  him,  made  his  way  some 
what  unsteadily  across  the  room  and  up 
the  back  stairs. 

Behind  the  door  of  his  room  hung  the 
pride  of  his  soul,  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
whole,  patchless,  clean,  which  the  judge  had 
bought  him  two  days  before.  He  had  sat 
before  it  in  speechless  admiration;  he  had 
hung  it  in  every  possible  light  to  get  the  full 
benefit  of  its  beauty;  he  had  even  in  the 
night  placed  it  on  a  chair  beside  the  bed, 
so  that  he  could  put  out  his  hand  in  the 
dark  and  make  sure  it  was  there.  For 
it  was  the  first  new  suit  of  clothes  that 
he  remembered  ever  to  have  possessed. 
He  had  not  intended  to  wear  it  until  Sun- 

85 


Sandy 

day,  but  the  psychological  moment  had  ar 
rived. 

With  trembling  fingers  and  many  pauses 
for  rest,  he  made  his  toilet.  He  looked  in 
the  mirror,  and  his  heart  nearly  burst  with 
pride.  The  suit,  to  be  sure,  hung  limp  on 
his  gaunt  frame,  and  his  shaven  head  gave 
him  the  appearance  of  a  shorn  lamb,  but  to 
Sandy  the  reflection  was  eminently  satisfy 
ing.  One  thing  only  seemed  to  be  lacking. 
He  meditated  a  moment,  then,  with  some 
misgiving,  picked  up  a  small  linen  doily 
from  the  dresser,  and  carefully  folding  it, 
placed  it  in  his  breast-pocket,  with  one 
corner  just  visible. 

Triumphant  in  mind,  if  weak  in  body,  he 
slipped  down  the  back  steps,  skirted  Aunt 
Melvy's  domain,  and  turned  the  corner  of 
the  house  just  as  the  Nelson  phaeton  rolled 
out  of  the  yard.  Before  he  had  time  to  give 
way  to  utter  despair  a  glimmer  of  hope  ap 
peared  on  the  horizon,  for  the  phaeton 
stopped,  and  there  was  evidently  something 
the  matter.  Sandy  did  not  wait  for  it  to  be 


Convalescence 

remedied.  He  ran  down  the  road  with  all 
the  speed  he  could  muster. 

Near  the  gate  where  the  little  branch 
crossed  the  turnpike  was  a  slight  embank 
ment,  and  two  wheels  of  the  phaeton  had 
slipped  over  the  edge  and  were  buried  deep 
in  the  soft  earth.  Beside  it,  sitting  indig 
nantly  in  the  water,  was  an  irate  lady  who 
had  evidently  attempted  to  get  out  back 
ward  and  had  taken  a  sudden  and  unex 
pected  seat.  Her  countenance  was  a  pure 
specimen  of  Gothic  architecture;  a  massive 
pompadour  reared  itself  above  two  Gothic 
eyebrows  which  flanked  a  nose  of  unques 
tioned  Gothic  tendencies.  Her  mouth,  with 
its  drooping  corners,  completed  the  series  of 
arches,  and  the  whole  expression  was  one  of 
aspiring  melancholy  and  injured  majesty. 

Kneeling  at  her  side,  reassuring  her  and 
wiping  the  water  from  her  hands,  was  Euth 
Nelson. 

"God  send  you  ain't  hurt,  ma'am!" 
cried  Sandy,  arriving  breathless. 

The  girl  looked  up  and  shook  her  head 

87 


Sandy 

in  smiling  protest,  but  the  Gothic  lady 
promptly  suffered  a  relapse. 

"I  am— I  know  I  am!  Just  look  at  my 
dress  covered  with  mud,  and  my  glove  is 
split.  Get  my  smelling-salts,  Ruth ! ' ' 

Ruth,  upon  whom  the  lady  was  leaning, 
turned  to  Sandy. 

"Will  you  hand  it  to  me?  It  is  in  the 
little  bag  there  on  the  seat. ' ' 

Sandy  rushed  to  do  her  bidding.  He 
was  rather  hazy  as  to  the  object  of  his 
search;  but  when  his  fingers  touched  a 
round,  soft  ball  he  drew  it  forth  and  hastily 
presented  it  to  the  lady's  Roman  nose. 
She,  with  closed  eyes,  was  taking  deep 
whiffs  when  a  laugh  startled  her. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Clara,  it  7s  your  powder- 
puff!'7  cried  Ruth,  unable  to  restrain  her 
mirth. 

Mrs.  Nelson  rose  with  as  much  dignity 
as  her  draggled  condition  would  permit. 
"You  'd  better  get  me  home,"  she  said 
solemnly.  "I  may  be  internally  injured." 


Convalescence 

She  turned  to  Sandy.  "Boy,  can't  you  get 
that  phaeton  back  on  the  road  ? ' ' 

Sandy,  whose  chagrin  over  his  blunder 
had  sent  him  to  the  background,  came 
promptly  forward.  Seizing  the  wheel,  lie 
made  several  ineffectual  efforts  to  lift  it 
back  to  the  road. 

"It  is  not  moving  an  inch!"  announced 
the  mournful  voice  from  above.  "Can't 
you  take  hold  of  it  nearer  the  back,  and 
exert  a  little  more  strength  ? ' ' 

Sandy  bit  his  lip  and  shot  a  swift  glance 
at  Ruth.  She  was  still  smiling.  With  savage 
determination  he  fell  upon  the  wheel  as  if 
it  had  been  a  mortal  foe;  he  pushed  and 
shoved  and  pulled,  and  finally,  with  a  rally 
of  all  his  strength,  he  went  on  his  knees  in 
the  mud  and  lifted  the  phaeton  back  on  the 
road. 

Then  came  a  collapse,  and  he  leaned 
tgainst  the  nearest  tree  and  struggled  with 
the  deadly  faintness  that  was  stealing  over 
him. 

6  89 


Sandy 

1 '  Why— why,  you  are  the  boy  who  was 
sick!"  cried  Ruth,  in  dismay. 

Sandy,  white  and  trembling,  shook  his 
head  protestingly.  "It  's  me  bellows  that  's 
rocky, "  he  explained  between  gasps. 

Mrs.  Nelson  rustled  back  into  the  phaeton, 
and  taking  a  pietfe  of  money  from  her  purse, 
held  it  out  to  him. 

"That  will  amply  repay  you,"  she  said. 

Sandy  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  close- 
cropped  hair.  A  tip,  heretofore  a  gift  of 
the  gods,  had  suddenly  become  an  insult. 
Angry,  impetuous  words  rushed  to  his  lips, 
and  he  took  a  step  forward.  Then  he  was 
aware  of  a  sudden  change  in  the  girl,  who 
had  just  stepped  into  the  phaeton.  She 
shot  a  quick,  indignant  look  at  her  aunt, 
then  turned  around  and  smiled  a  good-by 
to  him. 

He  lifted  his  cap  and  said,  "I  thank  ye." 
But  it  was  not  to  Mrs.  Nelson,  who  still 
held  the  money  as  they  drove  out  of  the 
avenue. 

Sandy  went  wearily  back  to  the  house. 

90 


Convalescence 

He  had  made  his  first  trial  in  behalf  of  his 
lady  fair,  but  his  soul  knew  no  elation. 
His  beautiful  new  armor  had  sustained  ir 
reparable  injury,  and  his  vanity  had  re 
ceived  a  mortal  wound. 


91 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AUNT  MELVY  AS  A  SOOTHSAYER 

|T  was  a  crisp  afternoon  in 
late  October.  The  road  lead 
ing  west  from  Clayton  ran 
the  gantlet  of  fiery  maples 
and  sumac  until  it  reached 
the  barren  hillside  below  "Who  'd  'a' 
Thought  It."  The  little  cabin  clung  to  the 
side  of  the  steep  slope  like  a  bit  of  fungus 
to  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

In  the  doorway  sat  three  girls,  one  tall 
and  dark,  one  plump  and  fair,  and  the  third 
straight  and  thin.  They  were  anxiously 
awaiting  the  revelation  of  the  future  as 
disclosed  by  Aunt  Melvy's  far-famed  tea- 
leaves.  The  prophetess  kept  them  company 
while  waiting  for  the  water  to  boil. 

"He  sutenly  is  a  peart  boy,"  she  was 

92 


Aunt  Melvy  as  a  Soothsayer 

saying.  "De  jedge  done  start  him  in  plumb 
at  de  foot  up  at  de  'cademy,  an'  dey  tell  me 
he  's  ketchin '  up  right  along. ' ' 

"Was  n't  it  g- grand  in  Judge  Hollis  to 
send  him  to  school?"  said  Annette.  "Of 
course  he  's  going  to  work  for  him  b-be- 
tween  times.  They  say  even  Mrs.  Hollis  is 
glad  he  is  going  to  stay." 

"  'Co'se  she  is,"  said  Aunt  Melvy;  "dere 
nebber  was  nobody  come  it  over  Miss  Sue 
lak  he  done." 

"Father  says  he  is  very  quick,"  ventured 

Martha  Meech,  a  faint  color  coming  to  her 

dull  cheek  at  this  unusual  opportunity  of 

lescanting  upon  such  an  absorbing  subject. 

Father  told  Judge  Hollis  he  would  help 
him  with  his  lessons,  and  that  he  thought  it 
would  be  only  a  little  while  before  he  was 
up  with  the  other  boys." 

'Dad  says  he  's  a  d-dandy,"  cried  An 
nette.  "And  is  n't  it  grand  he  's  going  to 
be  put  on  the  ball  team  and  the  glee  club ! ' ' 

Ruth  rose  to  break  a  branch  laden  with 
crimson  maple-leaves.  "Was  he  ever  here 

93 


Sandy 

before?"  she  asked  in  puzzled  tones.  "I 
have  seen  him  somewhere,  and  I  can 't  think 
where. ' ' 

"Well,  I  'd  never  f-forget  him,"  said  An 
nette.  "He  's  got  the  j oiliest  face  I  ever 
saw.  M-Martha  says  he  can  jump  that  high 
fence  b-back  of  the  Hollises'  without  touch 
ing  it.  I  d-drove  dad 's  buggy  clear  up  over 
the  curbstone  yesterday,  so  he  would  come 
to  the  r-rescue,  and  he  swung  on  to  old 
B-Baldy's  neck  like  he  had  been  a  race 
horse." 

"But  you  don't  know  him,"  protested 
Ruth.  "And,  besides,  he  was— he  was  a 
peddler. ' ' 

"I  don't  care  if  he  was,"  said  Annette. 
"And  if  I  don't  know  him,  it  's  no  sign  I 
am  not  g-going  to. ' ' 

Aunt  Melvy  chuckled  as  she  rose  to  en 
courage  the  fire  with  a  pair  of  squeaking  old 
bellows. 

Martha  looked  about  the  room  curiously. 
"Can  you  really  tell  what  's  going  to  hap 
pen?"  she  asked  timidly. 

94 


Aunt  Melvy  as  a  Soothsayer 

"Indeed  she  can,"  said  Annette.  "She 
told  Jane  Lewis  that  she  was  g-going  to  have 
some  g-good  luck,  and  the  v-very  next  week 
her  aunt  died  and  left  her  a  turquoise-ring ! ' ' 

"Yas,  chile, "  said  Aunt  Melvy,  bending 
over  the  fire  to  light  her  pipe ;  "I  been 
habin'  divisions  for  gwine  on  five  year. 
Dat  's  what  made  me  think  I  wuz  gwine  git 
religion;  but  hit  ain't  come  yit— not  yit. 
I  'm  a  mourner  an'  a  seeker."  Her  pipe 
dropped  unheeded,  and  she  gazed  with  fixed 
eyes  out  of  the  window. 

"Tell  us  about  your  visions,"  demanded 
Annette. 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Melvy,  "de  fust  I 
knowed  about  it  wuz  de  lizards  in  my  legs. 
I  could  feel  'em  jus'  as  plain  as  day, 
dese  here  little  green  lizards  a-runnin' 
round  inside  my  legs.  I  tole  de  doctor  'bout 
hit,  Miss  Nettie;  but  he  said  't  war  n't 
nothin'  but  de  fidgits.  I  knowed  better  'n 
he  did  dat  time.  Dat  night  I  had  a  division, 
an'  de  dream  say,  'Put  on  yer  purple  mourn- 
in '-dress  an'  set  wid  yer  feet  in  a  barrel  ob 

95 


Sandy 

b'ilin'  water  till  de  smoke  comes  down  de 
chimbly.'  An'  so  I  done,  a-settin'  up  dere 
on  dat  chist  o'  drawers  all  night,  wid  my 
purple  mournin '-dress  on  an'  my  feet  in  de 
b  'ilin '  water,  an '  de  lizards  run  away  so  fur 
dat  dey  ain't  even  stopped  yit." 

"Aunt  Melvy,  do  you  tell  fortunes  by 
palmistry!"  asked  Ruth. 

"Yas  'm;  I  reckon  dat  's  what  you  call 
hit.  I  tells  by  de  tea-leaves.  Lor',  Miss 
Rufe,  you  sutenly  put  me  in  min'  o'  yer 
grandmaw!  She  kerried  her  haid  up  in  de 
air  jus'  lak  you  do,  an'  she  wuz  jus'  as  putty 
as  you  is,  too.  We  libed  in  de  ole  planta 
tion  what  's  done  burned  down  now,  an'  I 
lubed  my  missus— I  sutenly  did.  When  my 
ole  man  fust  come  here  from  de  country  I 
nebber  seen  sech  a  fool.  He  did  n't  know 
no  more  'bout  courtin'  dan  nothin';  but  I 
wuz  better  qualified.  I  jus'  tole  ole  miss 
how  't  wuz,  an'  she  fixed  up  de  weddin'.  I 
nebber  will  fergit  de  day  we  walk  ober  de 
plantation  an '  say  we  wuz  married.  George 
he  had  on  a  brand-new  pair  pants  dat  cost 

96 


Aunt  Melvy  as  a  Soothsayer 

two  hundred  an'  sixty-four  dollars  in  Con 
federate  money.7' 

"Is  n't  the  water  b-boiling  yet?"  asked 
Annette,  impatiently. 

"So  't  is,  so  't  is,"  said  Aunt  Melvy,  lift 
ing  the  kettle  from  the  crane.  She  dropped 
a  few  tea-leaves  in  three  china  cups,  and 
then  with  great  solemnity  and  occasional 
guttural  ejaculations  poured  the  water  over 
them. 

Before  the  last  cup  was  filled,  Annette, 
with  a  wry  face,  had  drained  the  contents  of 
hers  and  held  it  out  to  Aunt  Melvy. 

' There  are  my  leaves.  If  they  don't 
tell  about  a  lover  with  b-blue  eyes  and  an 
Irish  accent,  I  '11  never  b-believe  them." 

Aunt  Melvy  bent  over  the  cup,  and  her 
sides  shook.  "You  gwine  be  a  farmer's 
wife,"  she  said,  chuckling  at  the  girl's  gri 
mace.  "You  gwine  raise  chickens  an' 
ahfflnn." 

"Ugh!"  said  Annette  as  the  other  girls 
laughed;  "are  his  eyes  b-blue?" 

Aunt   Melvy  pondered    over   the   leaves. 

97 


Sandy 

"Well,  now,  'pears  to  me  he  's  sorter  dark- 
complected  an'  fat,  like  Mr.  Sid  Gray,"  she 
said. 

"Never!"  declared  Annette.  "I  loathe 
Sid." 

"Tell  my  future!"  cried  Martha,  push 
ing  her  cup  forward  eagerly. 

"Dey  ain't  none!"  cried  Aunt  Melvy, 
aghast,  as  she  saw  the  few  broken  leaves  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cup.  "You  done  drinked 
up  yer  fortune.  Dat  's  de  sign  ob  early 
death.  I  gwine  fix  you  a  good-luck  bag ;  dey 
say  ef  you  carry  it  all  de  time,  hit  's  a  cross- 
sign  ag'in'  death." 

"But  can't  you  tell  me  anything?"  per 
sisted  Martha. 

"Dey  ain't  nothin'  to  tell,"  repeated  Aunt 
Melvy,  ' l  'cep  'n '  to  warn  you  to  carry  dat 
good-luck  bag  all  de  time." 

'  '  Now,  mine, ' '  said  Ruth,  with  an  incredu 
lous  but  curious  smile. 

For  several  moments  Aunt  Melvy  bent 
over  the  cup  in  deep  consideration,  and  then 
she  rose  and  took  it  to  the  window,  with 

98 


Aunt  Melvy  as  a  Soothsayer 

fearsome,  anxious  looks  at  Ruth  meanwhile. 
Once  or  twice  she  made  a  sign  with  her  fin 
gers,  and  frowned  anxiously. 

"What  is  it,  Aunt  Melvy  1"  Ruth  de 
manded.  "Am  I  going  to  be  an  old  maid?" 

"'T  ain't  no  time  to  joke,  chile,"  whis 
pered  Aunt  Melvy,  all  the  superstition  of 
her  race  embodied  in  her  trembling  figure. 
'  *  What  I  see,  I  see.  Hit  's  de  galluses  what 
I  see  in  de  bottom  ob  yer  cup ! ' ' 

"Do  you  m-mean  suspenders?"  laughed 
Annette. 

Aunt  Melvy  did  not  hear  her;  she  was 
looking  over  the  cup  into  space,  swaying  and 
moaning. 

"To  t'ink  ob  my  ole  missus'  gran 'chile 
bein'  mixed  up  wif  a  gallus  lak  dey  hang 
de  niggers  on !  But  hit  's  dere,  jus '  as  plain 
as  day,  de  two  poles  an'  de  cross-beam." 

Ruth  laughed  as  she  looked  into  the  cup. 

"Is  it  for  me?" 

"Don't  know,  honey;  de  signs  don't  p'int 
to  no  one  person:  but  hit  's  in  yer  life,  an' 
de  shadow  rests  ag'in'  you." 

99 


Sandy 

By  this  time  Martha  was  at  the  door,  urg 
ing  the  others  to  hurry.  Her  face  was  pale 
and  her  eyes  were  troubled.  Ruth  saw  her 
nervousness  and  slipped  her  arm  about  her. 
"It  's  all  in  fun, ' '  she  whispered. 

"Of  course, "  said  Annette.  "You 
m-must  n't  mind  her  foolishness.  Besides, 
I  g-got  the  worst  of  it.  I  'd  rather  die 
young  or  be  hanged,  any  day,  than  to 
m-marry  Sid  Gray." 

Aunt  Melvy  followed  them  to  the  door,' 
shaking  her  head.  "I  'se  gwine  make  you 
chillun  some  good-luck  bags.  De  fust  time 
de  new  moon  holds  water  I  'se  sholy  gwine 
fix  'em.  'T  ain't  safe  not  to  mind  de  signs ; 
Jt  ain't  safe." 

And  with  muttered  warnings  she  watched 
them  until  they  were  lost  to  view  behind  the 
hill. 


100 


CHAPTER  IX 


TRANSITION 

HE  change  from  the  road  to 
the  school-room  was  not 
without  many  a  struggle  on 
Sandy's  part.  The  new  life, 
the  new  customs,  and  the 
strange  language,  were  baffling. 

The  day  after  the  accident  in  the  road, 
Mrs.  Hollis  had  sent  him  to  inquire  how  old 
Mrs.  Nelson  was,  and  he  had  returned  with 
the  astonishing  report  that  she  was  sixty- 
one. 

But  you  did  n't  ask  her  age?"  cried 
Mrs.  Hollis,  horrified. 

Sandy  looked  perplexed.  "I  said  what 
ye  bid  me,"  he  declared. 

Everything  he  did,  in  fact,  seemed  to  be 
wrong;  and  everything  he  said,  to  bring  a 
101 


Sandy 

smile.  He  confided  many  a  woe  to  Aunt 
Melvy  as  he  sat  on  the  kitchen  steps  in  the 
evenings. 

"Hit  's  de  green  rubbin'  off,"  she  as 
sured  him  sympathetically.  ' l  De  same  ones 
dat  laugh  at  you  now  will  be  takin'  off  dey 
hats  to  you  some  day." 

"Oh,  it  ain't  the  guyin'  I  mind,"  said 
Sandy ;  "  it  's  me  wooden  head.  Them  little 
shavers  that  can 't  see  a  hole  in  a  ladder  can 
beat  me  figurin '. ' ' 

"You  jus'  keep  on  axin'  questions,"  ad 
vised  Aunt  Melvy.  "Dat  's  what  I  always 
tole  Rachael.  Eachael  's  dat  yaller  gal  up 
to  Mrs.  Nelson's.  I  done  raise  her,  an'  she 
ain  't  a  bit  o  'count.  I  use '  ter  say,  '  You  fool 
nigger,  how  you  ebber  gwine  learn  nothin' 
effen  you  don't  ax  questions?'  An'  she  'd 
stick  out  her  mouth  an '  say,  l  Umph,  umph ; 
you  don't  ketch  me  lettin'  de  white  folks 
know  how  much  sense  I  ain't  got.'  Den 
she  'd  put  on  a  white  dress  an'  a  white  sun- 
bonnet  an'  go  switchin'  up  de  street,  lookin' 
jus'  lak  a  fly  in  a  glass  ob  buttermilk." 
102 


Transition 


"It  's  the  mixed-up  things  that  bother 
me,"  said  Sandy.  "Mr.  Moseley  was  tell 
ing  of  us  to-day  how  ye  lost  a  day  out  of 
the  week  when  ye  went  round  the  world  one 
way,  and  gained  a  day  when  ye  went  round 
the  other." 

Aunt  Melvy  paused  with  the  tea-towel  in 
her  hand.  "Lost  a  day  outen  de  week? 
Where  'd  he  say  you  lost  it  at!" 

Sandy  shook  his  head  in  perplexity. 

"Dat  's  plumb  foolishness,"  said  Aunt 
Melvy,  indignantly.  "I  'se  s 'prised  at  Mr. 
Moseley,  I  sholy  is.  Dey  sorter  gits  notions, 
dem  teachers  does.  When  dey  tells  you 
stuff  lak  dat,  honey,  don't  you  pay  'em  no 
mind." 

But  Sandy  did  "pay  'em  mind."  He  fol 
lowed  Aunt  Melvy 's  advice  about  asking 
questions,  and  wrestled  with  each  new  prop 
osition  until  he  mastered  it.  It  did  not  take 
him  long,  moreover,  to  distinguish  the  dif 
ference  between  himself  and  those  about 
him.  The  words  and  phrases  that  had 
passed  current  on  the  street  seemed  to  ring 

103 


Sandy 

false  here.  He  watched  the  judge  covertly 
and  took  notes. 

His  progress  at  the  academy  was  a  singu 
lar  succession  of  triumphs  and  failures. 
His  natural  quickness,  together  with  an  en 
thusiastic  ambition  to  get  on,  enabled  him 
soon  to  take  his  place  among  the  boys  of 
his  own  age.  But  a  superabundance  of  high 
spirits  and  an  inordinate  love  of  fun  caused 
many  a  dark  entry  on  the  debit  side  of  his 
school  ledger.  There  were  many  times 
when  he  exasperated  the  judge  to  the  limit 
of  endurance,  for  he  was  reckless  and  impul 
sive,  charged  to  the  exploding-point  with 
vitality,  and  ever  and  always  the  victim  of 
his  last  caprice ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  final 
issue,  and  the  judge  put  a  question  fairly 
before  him,  the  boy  was  always  on  the  side 
of  right,  even  though  it  proved  him  guilty. 

At  first  Mrs.  Hollis  had  been  strongly  op 
posed  to  his  remaining  on  the  farm,  but  she 
soon  became  silent  on  the  subject.  It  was 
a  heretofore  unknown  luxury  to  have  the 
outside  work  promptly  and  efficiently  at-- 

104 


Transition 


tended  to.  He  possessed  "the  easy  grace 
that  makes  a  joke  of  toil";  and  when  he 
despatched  his  various  chores  and  did  even 
more  than  was  required  of  him,  Mrs.  Hollis 
capitulated. 

It  was  something  more,  however,  than  his 
ability  and  service  that  won  her.  The  affec 
tion  of  the  world,  which  seemed  to  eddy 
around  her,  as  a  rule,  found  an  exception  in 
Sandy.  His  big,  exuberant  nature  made  no 
distinction:  he  swept  over  her,  sharp  edges 
and  all;  he  teased  her,  coaxed  her,  petted 
her,  laughed  at  her,  turned  her  tirades  with 
a  bit  of  blarney,  and  in  the  end  won  her  in 
spite  of  herself. 

"He  's  ketchin'  on,"  reported  Aunt  Mel- 
vy,  confidently.  "I  heared  him  puttin'  on 
airs  in  his  talk.  When  dey  stops  talkin' 
nachel,  den  I  knows  dey  are  learnin'  some- 
thin'." 


105 


CHAPTER   X 


WATERLOO 

T  was  not  until  three  years 
had  passed  and  Sandy  had 
reached  his  junior  year  that 
his  real  achievement  was 
put  to  the  test. 
After  that  harrowing  experience  in  the 
Hollis  driveway,  he  had  seen  Ruth  Nelson 
but  twice.  She  had  spent  the  winters  at 
boarding-school,  and  in  the  summers  she 
traveled  with  her  aunt.  She  was  still  the 
divinity  for  whom  he  shaped  his  end,  the 
compass  that  always  brought  him  back  to 
the  straight  course.  He  looked  upon  her 
possible  recognition  and  friendship  as  a 
man  looks  upon  his  reward  in  heaven.  In 
the  meantime  he  suffered  himself  to  be  con 
soled  by  less  distant  joys. 

106 


Waterloo 


The  greatest  spur  he  had  to  study  was 
Martha  Meech.  She  thought  he  was  a 
genius ;  and  while  he  found  it  a  bit  irksome 
to  live  up  to  his  reputation,  he  made  an 
honest  effort  to  deserve  it. 

One  spring  afternoon  the  two  were  under 
the  apple-trees,  with  their  books  before 
them.  The  years  that  had  lifted  Sandy  for 
ward  toward  vigor  and  strength  and  man 
hood  had  swept  over  Martha  relentlessly, 
beating  out  her  frail  strength,  and  leaving 
her  weaker  to  combat  each  incoming  tide. 
Her  straight,  straw-colored  hair  lay  smooth 
about  her  delicate  face,  and  in  her  eyes  was 
the  strained  look  of  one  who  seeks  but  is 
destined  never  to  attain. 

' 'Let  's  go  over  the  Latin  once  more," 
she  was  saying  patiently,  "just  to  make  sure 
you  understand/' 

"Devil  a  bit  more!"  cried  Sandy,  jump 
ing  up  from  where  he  lay  in  the  grass  and 
tossing  the  book  lightly  from  her  hand; 
"it  's  the  sin  and  the  shame  to  keep  you 
poking  in  books,  now  the  spring  is  here. 

107 


Sandy 

Martha,  do  you  mind  the  sound  of  the  wind 
in  the  tree-tops  ? ' ' 

She  nodded,  and  he  went  on : 

"Does  it  put  strange  words  in  your  heart 
that  you  can't  even  think  out  in  your  head? 
If  I  could  be  translating  the  wind  and  the 
river,  I  'd  never  be  minding  the  Latin 
again. ' ' 

Martha  looked  at  him  half  timidly. 

"Sometimes,  do  you  know,  I  almost  think 
you  are  a  poet,  Sandy;  you  are  always 
thinking  the  things  the  poets  write  about. ' ' 

"Do  you,  now,  true?"  he  asked  seriously, 
dropping  down  on  the  grass  beside  her. 
Then  he  laughed.  "You  '11  be  having  me 
writing  rhymes,  now,  in  a  minute." 

"Why  not?"  she  urged. 

"I  must  stick  to  my  course,"  he  said. 
"I  'd  never  be  a  real  one.  They  work  for 
the  work's  sake,  and  I  work  for  the  praise. 
If  I  win  the  scholarship,  it  '11  be  because  you 
want  me  to,  Martha ;  if  I  come  to  be  a  law 
yer,  it  's  because  it  's  the  wish  of  the  judge's 
heart ;  and  if  I  win  out  in  the  end,  it  will  be 
for  the  love  of  some  one— some  one  who 

108 


Waterloo 


cares  more  for  that  than  for  anything  else 
in  the  world. ' ' 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  while  he  watched 
the  flight  of  a  song-bird  as  it  wheeled  about 
overhead.  Presently  she  opened  an  old 
portfolio  and  took  from  it  a  little  sketch. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  get  up  courage  to 
show  it  to  you  all  week,"  she  said,  with  a 
deprecatory  laugh. 

"It  's  the  river,"  cried  Sandy,  "just  at 
sundown,  when  the  shadows  are  slipping 
away  from  the  bank!  Martha,  why  did  n't 
ye  tell  me  ?  Are  there  more  1 ' ' 

He  ransacked  the  portfolio,  drawing  out 
sketch  after  sketch  and  exclaiming  over 
each.  They  were  crude  little  efforts,  faulty 
in  drawing  and  in  color ;  but  the  spirit  was 
there,  and  Sandy  had  a  vague  instinct  for 
the  essence  of  things. 

"I  believe  you  're  the  real  kind,  Martha. 
They  're  crooked  a  bit,  but  they  've  got  the 
feel  of  the  woods  in  'em,  all  right.  I  can 
just  hear  the  water  going  over  those 
stones." 

Martha 's  eyes  glowed  at  the  praise.     For 

109 


Sandy 

a  year  she  had  reached  forward  blindly 
toward  some  outlet  for  her  cramped,  lim 
ited  existence,  and  suddenly  a  way  seemed 
open  toward  the  light. 

"I  wanted  to  learn  how  before  I  showed 
you,"  she  said.  "I  am  never  going  to  show 
them  to  any  one  but  you  and  mother  and 
father." 

"But  you  must  go  somewhere  to  study," 
cried  Sandy.  "It  's  a  great  artist  you  '11. be 
some  day." 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  's  not  for  me, 
Sandy.  I  '11  always  be  like  a  little  beggar 
girl  that  peeps  through  the  fence  into  a 
beautiful  garden.  I  know  all  the  wonderful 
things  are  there,  but  I  '11  never  get  to  them. ' ' 

"But  ye  will,"  cried  Sandy,  hot  with  sym 
pathy.  "I  '11  be  making  money  some  day, 
and  I  '11  send  ye  to  the  finest  master  in  the 
country;  and  you  will  be  getting  well  and 
strong,  and  we  '11  go—" 

Mr.  Meech,  shuffling  up  the  walk  toward 
them,  interrupted.  "Studying  for  the  ex 
amination,  eh?  That  's  right,  my  boy.  The 
110 


Waterloo 


judge  tells  me  that  you  have  a  good  chance 
to  win  the  scholarship. " 

"Did  he,  now?"  said  Sandy,  with  shame 
less  pleasure;  "and  you,  Mr.  Meech,  do  ye 
think  the  same?" 

"I  certainly  do,"  said  Mr.  Meech.  "Any 
body  that  can  accomplish  the  work  you  do 
at  home,  and  hold  your  record  at  the  acad 
emy,  stands  an  excellent  chance." 

Sandy  thought  so,  too,  but  he  tried  to  be 
modest.  "If  it  '11  be  in  me,  it  will  come 
out,"  he  said  with  suppressed  triumph  as 
he  swung  his  books  across  his  shoulder  and 
started  home. 

Martha's  eyes  followed  him  wistfully,  and 
she  hoped  for  a  backward  look  before  he 
turned  in  at  the  door.  But  he  was  absorbed 
in  sailing  a  broomstick  across  Aunt  Melvy's 
pathway,  causing  her  to  drop  her  basket 
and  start  after  him  in  hot  pursuit. 

That  evening  the  judge  glanced  across 

the  table  with  great  satisfaction  at  Sandy, 

who  was  apparently  buried  in  his  Vergil. 

The  boy,  after  all,  was  a  student;  he  was 

ill 


Sandy 

justifying  the  money  and  time  that  had  been 
spent  upon  him ;  he  was  proving  a  credit  to 
his  benefactor's  judgment  and  to  his  know 
ledge  of  human  nature. 

"  Would  ye  mind  telling  me  a  word  that 
rhymes  with  lance  f"  broke  in  Sandy  after 
an  hour  of  absorbed  concentration. 

"  Pants, "  suggested  the  judge.  But  he 
woke  up  in  the  night  to  wonder  again  what 
part  of  Vergil  Sandy  had  been  studying. 

"How  about  the  scholarship?"  he  asked 
the  next  day  of  Mr.  Moseley,  the  principal 
of  the  academy. 

Mr.  Moseley  pursed  his  lips  and  consid 
ered  the  matter  ponderously.  He  regarded 
it  as  ill  befitting  an  instructor  of  youth  to 
dispose  of  any  subject  in  words  of  less  than 
three  syllables. 

"Your  protege,  Judge  Hollis,  is  an  am 
biguous  proposition.  He  possesses  inven 
tion  and  originality,  but  he  is  sadly  lacking 
in  sustained  concentration." 

"But  if  he  studies,"  persisted  the  judge, 
"you  think  he  may  win  it?" 
112 


Waterloo 


Mr.  Moseley  wrinkled  his  brows  and 
looked  as  if  he  were  solving  a  problem 
in  Euclid.  "Probably,"  he  admitted;  "but 
there  is  a  most  insidious  enemy  with  which 
he  has  to  contend." 

"An  enemy?"  repeated  the  judge,  anx 
iously. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Moseley,  sinking 
his  voice  to  husky  solemnity,  "the  boy  is 
stung  by  the  tarantula  of  athletics ! ' ' 

It  was  all  too  true.  The  Ambiguous 
Proposition  had  found,  soon  after  reaching 
Clayton,  that  base-ball  was  what  he  had 
been  waiting  for  all  his  life.  It  was  what 
he  had  been  born  for,  what  he  had  crossed 
the  ocean  for,  and  what  he  would  gladly 
have  died  for. 

There  could  have  been  no  surer  proof  of 
his  growing  power  of  concentration  than 
that  he  kept  a  firm  grasp  on  his  academy 
work  during  these  trying  days.  It  was  a 
hand-to-hand  fight  with  the  great  mass  of 
knowledge  that  had  been  accumulating  at 
such  a  cruel  rate  during  the  years  he  had 

113 


Sandy 

spent  out  of  school.  He  was  making  gallant 
progress  when  a  catastrophe  occurred. 

The  great  ball  game  of  the  season,  which 
was  to  be  played  in  Lexington  between  the 
Clayton  team  and  the  Lexington  nine,  was 
set  for  June  2.  And  June  2  was  the  day 
which  cruel  fate— masked  as  the  board  of 
trustees— had  set  for  the  academy  examina 
tions.  Sandy  was  the  only  member  of  the 
team  who  attended  the  academy,  and  upon 
him  alone  rested  the  full  agony  of  renunci 
ation.  His  disappointment  was  so  utterly 
crushing  that  it  affected  the  whole  family. 

' i Could  n't  they  postpone  the  game?" 
asked  the  judge. 

' '  It  was  the  second  that  was  the  only  day 
the  Lexingtons  could  play,"  said  Sandy,  in 
black  despair.  ' '  And  to  think  of  me  sitting 
in  the  bloomin'  old  school-room  while  Sid 
Gray  loses  the  game  in  me  place !" 

For  a  week  before  the  great  event  he 
lived  in  retirement.  The  one  topic  of  con 
versation  in  town  was  the  ball  game,  and 
he  found  the  strain  too  great  to  be  borne. 

114 


Waterloo 


The  team  was  to  go  to  Lexington  on  the 
noon  train  with  a  mighty  company  of  loyal 
followers.  Every  boy  and  girl  who  could 
meet  the  modest  expenses  was  going,  save 
the  unfortunate  victims  of  the  junior  class 
at  the  academy.  Annette  Fenton  had  even 
had  a  dress  made  in  the  Clayton  colors. 

As  Sandy  went  into  town  on  the  impor 
tant  day,  his  heart  was  like  a  rock  in  his 
breast.  There  was  glorious  sunshine  every 
where,  and  a  cool  little  undercurrent  of 
breezes  stirred  every  leaf  into  a  tiny  banner 
of  victory.  Up  in  the  square,  Johnson's 
colored  band  was  having  a  final  rehearsal, 
while  on  the  court-house  steps  the  team, 
glorious  in  new  uniforms,  were  excitedly 
discussing  the  plan  of  campaign.  Little 
boys  shouted,  and  old  boys  left  their  stores 
to  come  out  and  give  a  bit  of  advice  or 
encouragement  to  the  waiting  warriors. 
Maidens  in  crisp  lawn  dresses  and  flying 
ribbons  fluttered  about  in  a  tremor  of  an 
ticipation. 

Sandy  Kilday,  with  his  cap  pulled  over 

115 


Sandy 

his  eyes,  went  up  Back  street.  If  he  could 
not  make  the  devil  get  behind  him,  he  at 
least  could  get  behind  the  devil.  Without 
a  moment's  hesitation  he  would  have  given 
ten  years  of  sober  middle-age  life  for  that 
one  glorious  day  of  youth  on  the  Lexington 
diamond,  with  the  victory  to  be  fought  for, 
and  the  grand  stand  to  be  won. 

He  tried  not  to  keep  step  with  the  music 
—he  even  tried  to  think  of  quadratic  equa 
tions — as  he  marched  heroically  on  to  the 
academy.  His  was  the  face  of  a  Christian 
martyr  relinquishing  life  for  a  good  but 
hopeless  cause. 

Late  that  afternoon  Judge  Hollis  left  his 
office  and  walked  around  to  the  academy. 
He  had  sympathized  fully  with  Sandy,  and 
wanted,  if  possible,  to  find  out  the  result 
of  the  examination  before  going  home.  The 
report  of  the  scholarship  won  would  recon 
cile  him  to  his  disappointment. 

At  the  academy  gate  he  met  Mr.  Moseley, 
who  greeted  him  with  a  queer  smile.  They 
both  asked  the  same  question : 

116 


Waterloo 


"Where  's  Sandy?" 

As  if  in  answer,  there  came  a  mighty 
shout  from  the  street  leading  down  to  the 
depot.  Turning,  they  saw  a  cheering,  hila 
rious  crowd;  bright-flowered  hats  flashed 
among  college  caps,  while  shrill  girlish 
voices  rang  out  with  the  manly  ones.  Car 
ried  high  in  the  air  on  the  shoulders  of  a 
dozen  boys,  radiant  with  praise  and  success, 
sat  the  delinquent  Sandy,  and  the  tumult 
below  resolved  itself  into  one  mighty  cheer : 

"Kilday,  Kilday! 
Won  the  day. 
Hooray ! ' ' 


117 


CHAPTER  XI 


URING  the  summer  Sandy 
worked  faithfully  to  make 
amends  for  his  failure  to 
win  the  scholarship.  He  had 
meekly  accepted  the  torrent 
of  abuse  which  Mrs.  Hollis  poured  forth, 
and  the  open  disapproval  shown  by  the 
Meeches;  he  had  winced  under  Martha's 
unspoken  reproaches,  and  groaned  over  the 
judge's  quiet  disappointment. 

' '  You  see,  my  boy, ' '  the  judge  said  one  day 
when  they  were  alone,  ' '  I  had  set  my  heart 
on  taking  you  into  the  office  after  next  year. 
I  had  counted  on  the  scholarship  to  put  you 
through  your  last  year  at  the  academy. ' ' 

"It  was  the  fool  I  was,"  cried  Sandy,  in 
deep  contrition,  "but  if  ye  '11  trust  me  the 

118 


"The  Light  that  Lies" 

one  time  more,  may  I  die  in  me  traces  if  I 
ever  stir  out  of  them!" 

So  sincere  was  his  desire  to  make  amends 
that  he  asked  to  read  law  with  the  judge 
in  the  evenings  after  his  work  was  done. 
Nothing  could  have  pleased  the  judge  more ; 
he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  lamp  and  his  feet 
on  the  window-sill,  expounding  polemics  to 
his  heart's  desire. 

Sandy  sat  in  the  shadow  and  whittled. 
Sometimes  he  did  not  listen  at  all,  but  when 
he  did,  it  was  with  an  intensity  of  attention, 
an  utter  absorption  in  the  subject,  that  car 
ried  him  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 
Meanwhile  he  was  unconsciously  receiving 
a  life-imprint  of  the  old  judge's  native  no 
bility. 

From  the  first  summer  Sandy  had  held  a 
good  position  at  the  post-office.  His  first 
earnings  had  gone  to  a  round  little  surgeon 
on  board  the  steamship  America.  But  since 
then  his  funds  had  run  rather  low.  What 
he  did  not  lend  he  contributed,  and  the  re 
sult  was  a  chronic  state  of  bankruptcy. 

119 


Sandy 

"You  must  be  careful  with  your  earn 
ings,"  the  judge  warned.  "It  is  not  easy 
to  live  within  an  income." 

"Easier  within  it  than  without  it,  sir," 
Sandy  answered  from  deep  experience. 

After  the  Lexington  episode  Sandy  had 
shunned  Martha  somewhat;  when  he  did  go 
to  see  her,  he  found  she  was  sick  in  bed. 

"She  never  was  strong,"  said  Mrs. 
Meech,  sitting  limp  and  disconsolate  on  the 
porch.  "Mr.  Meech  and  I  never  thought 
to  keep  her  this  long.  The  doctor  says  it  's 
the  beginning  of  the  end.  She  's  so  patient 
it  's  enough  to  break  your  heart." 

Sandy  went  without  his.  dinner  that  day, 
and  tramped  to  town  and  back,  in  the  glare 
of  the  noon  sun,  to  get  her  a  basket  of  fruit. 
Then  he  wrote  her  a  letter  so  full  of  affec 
tion  and  sympathy  that  it  brought  the  tears 
to  his  own  eyes  as  he  wrote.  He  took  the 
basket  with  the  note  and  left  them  at  her 
door,  after  which  he  promptly  forgot  all 
about  her.  For  his  whole  purpose  in  life 
these  days,  aside  from  assisting  the  govern- 
120 


"The  Light  that  Lies" 

ment  in  the  distribution  of  mail  and  read 
ing  a  musty  old  volume  of  Blackstone,  was 
learning  to  dance. 

In  ten  days  was  the  opening  of  the  county 
fair,  and  Sandy  had  received  an  invitation 
to  be  present  at  the  fair  hop,  which  was  the 
social  excitement  of  the  season.  It  was  to 
be  his  introduction  into  society,  and  he  was 
determined  to  acquit  himself  with  credit. 

He  assiduously  practised  the  two-step  in 
the  back  room  of  the  post-office  when  the 
other  clerk  was  out  for  lunch ;  he  tried  elab 
orate  and  ornate  bows  upon  Aunt  Melvy, 
who  considered  even  the  mildest  "reel 
chune"  a  direct  communication  from  the 
devil.  The  moment  the  post-office  closed  he 
hastened  to  Dr.  Fenton's,  where  Annette 
was  taking  him  through  a  course  of  private 
lessons. 

Dr.  Fenton's  house  was  situated  immedi 
ately  upon  the  street.  Opening  the  door, 
one  passed  into  a  small  square  hall  where 
the  Confederate  flag  hung  above  a  life-size 

portrait   of   General   Lee.     On   every   side 
8  121 


Sandy 

were  old  muskets  and  rusty  swords,  large 
pictures  of  decisive  battles,  and  maps  of 
the  siege  of  Vicksburg  and  the  battle  of 
Bull  Run.  In  the  midst  of  this  warlike 
atmosphere  sat  the  unreconstructed  little 
doctor,  wearing  his  gray  uniform  and  his 
gray  felt  hat,  which  he  removed  only  when 
he  ate  and  slept. 

Here  he  ostensibly  held  office  hours,  but 
in  reality  he  was  doing  sentry  duty.  His 
real  business  in  life  was  keeping  up  with 
Annette,  and  his  diversion  was  in  the  con 
stant  perusal  of  a  slim  sheet  known  as  "The 
Confederate  Veteran. " 

It  was  Sandy's  privilege  to  pass  the  lines 
unchallenged.  In  fact,  the  doctor's  strict 
surveillance  diminished,  and  he  was  occa 
sionally  guilty  of  napping  at  the  post  when 
Sandy  was  with  Annette. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  he  said  one  day. 
"Just  looking  over  the  ' Veteran.'  Ever 
hear  of  Sam  Davis?  Greatest  hero  South 
ever  knew!  That  's  his  picture.  Was  n't 
afraid  of  any  damned  Yankee  that  ever 

pulled  a  trigger. ' ' 

122 


"The  Light  that  Lies" 

' '  Was  he  a  rebel  1 ' '  asked  the  unfortunate 
Sandy. 

The  doctor  swelled  with  indignation.  "He 
was  a  Confederate,  sir!  I  never  knew  a 
rebel. " 

"It  was  the  Confederates  that  wore  the 
gray?"  asked  Sandy,  trying  to  cover  his 
blunder. 

"They  did/7  said  the  doctor.  "I  put  it 
on  at  nineteen,  and  I  '11  be  buried  in  it. 
Yes,  sir ;  and  my  hat.  Would  n  't  wear  blue 
for  a  farm.  Hate  the  sight  of  it  so,  that  I 
might  shoot  myself  by  mistake.  Ever  look 
over  these  maps?  This  was  the  battle 
of-" 

A  door  opened  and  a  light  head  was 
thrust  out. 

"Now,  d-dad,  you  hush  this  minute! 
You  Ve  told  him  that  over  and  over. 
Sandy  's  my  company.  Come  in  here, 
Sandy." 

A  few  moments  later  there  was  a  mov 
ing  of  chairs,  and  Annette's  voice  was 
counting, ' l  One,  two,  three ;  one,  two,  three, ? ' 
while  Sandy  went  through  violent  contor- 

123 


Sandy 

tions  in  his  efforts  to  waltz.  He  had  his 
tongue  firmly  between  his  teeth  and  his 
eyes  fixed  on  vacancy  as  he  revolved  in  fur 
niture-destroying  circles  about  the  small 
parlor. 

"That  is  n't  right, "  cried  Annette. 
"You  Ve  lost  the  time.  You  d-dance  with 
the  chair,  Sandy,  and  I  '11  p-play  the 
p-piano." 

"No,  you  don't!"  he  cried.  "I  '11  dance 
with  you  and  put  the  chair  at  the  piano,  but 
I  '11  dance  with  no  chair." 

Annette  sank,  laughing  and  exhausted, 
upon  the  sofa  and  looked  up  at  him  hope 
lessly.  Her  hair  had  tumbled  down,  making 
her  look  more  like  a  child  than  ever. 

"You  are  so  b-big,"  she  said;  "and 
you  Ve  got  so  m-many  feet!" 

' '  The  more  of  me  to  love  ye. ' ' 

"I  wonder  if  you  d-dof"  She  put  her 
chin  on  her  palms,  looking  at  him  side- 
wise. 

"Don't  ye  do  that  again!"  he  cried. 
"Have  n't  I  passed  ye  the  warning  never  to 

124 


"The  Light  that  Lies'9 

look  at  me  when  you  fix  your  mouth  like 
that?" 

She  tried  to  call  him  a  goose,  though  she 
knew  that  g's  were  fatal. 

A  moment  later  she  sat  at  one  end  of  the 
sofa  in  pretended  dudgeon,  while  Sandy 
tried  to  make  his  peace  from  the  other. 

"May  the  lightning  strike  me  dead  if  I 
ever  do  it  again  without  the  asking!  I  '11 
be  good  now— honest  to  goodness,  Nettie. 
I  '11  shut  me  eyes  when  you  take  the  hur 
dles,  and  be  blind  to  temptation.  Won't 
ye  be  putting  me  on  about  the  hop  now,  and 
what  I  must  do?" 

Annette  counted  her  fraternity  pins  and 
tried  to  look  severe.  She  used  them  in  lieu 
of  scalps,  and  they  encircled  her  neck,  fas 
tened  her  belt,  and  on  state  occasions  even 
adorned  her  shoe-buckles. 

"Well,"  she  at  last  said,  "to  b-begin 
with,  you  must  be  nice  to  everyb-body.  You 
must  n  't  sit  out  more  than  one  d-dance  with 
one  g-girl,  and  you  must  b-break  .in  on 
every  dance  I  ?m  not  sitting  out." 

125 


Sandy 

" Break  in?  Sit  out?"  repeated  Sandy, 
realizing  that  the  intricacies  of  society  are 
manifold. 

"Of  course, "  said  his  mentor.  " When 
ever  you  see  the  g-girl  you  like  dancing  with 
any  one  else,  you  just  p-put  your  hand  on 
the  man's  shoulder,  and  then  she  d-dances 
with  you." 

"And  will  they  all  stop  for  me?"  cried 
Sandy,  not  understanding  at  all  why  he 
should  have  the  preference. 

"Surely,"  said  Annette.  "And  sitting 
out  is  when  you  like  a  girl  so  m-much  that 
you  would  rather  take  her  away  to  some 
quiet  little  corner  and  talk  to  her  than  to 
d-dance  with  her." 

"That  '11  never  be  me,"  cried  Sandy— 
"not  while  the  band  plays." 

"Shall  we  try  it  again!"  she  asked;  and 
with  much  scoffing  and  scolding  on  her  part, 
and  eloquent  apologies  and  violent  exertion 
on  his,  they  struggled  onward  toward  suc 
cess. 

In  the  midst  of  the  lesson  there  was  a 

126 


"The  Light  that  Lies" 

low  whistle  at  the  side  window.  Annette 
dropped  Sandy's  hands  and  put  her  finger 
to  her  lips. 

"It  's  Carter, "  she  whispered.  "D-dad 
does  n't  allow  him  to  come  here." 

"Little  's  the  wonder,"  grumbled  Sandy. 

Annette 's  eyes  were  sparkling  at  the  pros 
pect  of  forbidden  fruit.  She  tiptoed  to  the 
window  and  opened  the  shutter  a  few  inches. 

At  the  opening  Carter's  face  appeared. 
It  was  a  pale,  delicate  face,  over-sensitive, 
over-refined,  with  the  stamp  of  weakness  on 
every  feature.  His  restless,  nervous  eyes 
were  slightly  bloodshot,  and  there  was  a 
constant  twitching  about  his  lips.  But  as 
he  pushed  back  the  shutter  and  leaned  care 
lessly  against  the  sill,  there  was  an  easy 
grace  in  his  figure  and  a  devil-may-care 
light  in  his  eyes  that  would  have  stirred  the 
heart  of  a  maiden  less  susceptible  than  the 
one  who  smiled  upon  him  from  between  the 
muslin  curtains. 

He  laughed  lightly  as  he  caught  at  a  flying 
lock  of  her  hair. 

127 


Sandy 

"You  little  coward!  Why  did  n't  you 
meet  me?" 

She  frowned  significantly  and  made  warn 
ing  gestures  toward  the  interior  of  the 
room. 

At  the  far  window,  standing  with  his  back 
to  them,  was  Mr.  Sandy  Kilday.  He  was 
engaged  in  a  fierce  encounter  with  an  un 
named  monster  whose  eyes  were  green. 
During  his  pauses  for  breath  he  composed 
a  few  comprehensive  and  scathing  remarks 
which  he  intended  to  bestow  upon  Miss 
Fenton  at  his  earliest  convenience.  Fickle 
ness  was  a  thing  not  to  be  tolerated.  She 
had  confessed  her  preference  for  him  over 
all  others;  she  must  and  should  prove  it. 
Just  when  his  indignation  had  reached  the 
exploding-point,  he  heard  his  name  called. 

"Sandy,"  cried  Annette,  "what  do  you 
think  f  Ruth  is  coming  home !  Carter  is  on 
his  way  to  the  d-depot  to  meet  her  now. 
She  's  been  gone  nearly  a  year.  I  never 
was  so  crazy  to  see  anyb-body  in  all  my 
life." 

128 


"The  Light  that  Lies" 

Sandy  wheeled  about.  "Which  depot ?" 
he  cried  excitedly ;  and  without  apologies  or 
farewell  he  dashed  out  of  the  house  and 
down  the  street. 

When  the  Pullman  train  came  into  the 
Clayton  station,  he  was  leaning  against  a 
truck  in  a  pose  of  studied  indifference.  Out 
of  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  watched  the  passen 
gers  alight. 

There  were  the  usual  fat  women  and  thin 
men,  tired  women  with  children,  and  old 
women  with  baskets,  but  no  sign  of  a  small 
girl  with  curls  hanging  down  her  back  and 
dresses  to  her  shoe-tops. 

Suddenly  he  caught  his  breath.  Stand 
ing  in  the  car  door,  like  a  saint  in  a  niche, 
was  a  radiant  figure  in  a  blue  traveling-suit, 
with  a  bit  of  blue  veil  floating  airily  from 
her  hat  brim.  She  was  not  the  little  girl 
he  was  looking  for,  but  he  transferred  his 
devotion  at  a  bound;  for  long  skirts  and 
tucked-up  curls  rendered  her  tenfold  more 
worshipful  than  before. 

He  watched  her  descend  from  her  ped- 

129 


Sandy 

estal,  bestow  an  affectionate  kiss  upon  her 
brother,  then  look  eagerly  around  for  other 
familiar  faces.  In  one  heart-suspending 
instant  her  eyes  met  his,  she  hesitated  in 
confusion,  then  blushed  and  bowed. 

Sandy  reeled  home  in  utter  intoxication 
of  spirit.  Even  the  town  pump  wore  a  halo 
of  glorified  rosy  mist. 

At  the  gate  he  met  Mrs.  Hollis  returning 
from  a  funeral.  With  a  sudden  descent 
from  his  ethereal  mood  he  pounced  upon  her 
and,  in  spite  of  violent  protestations,  danced 
her  madly  down  the  walk  and  deposited  her 
breathless  upon  the  milk-bench. 

"He  's  getting  worse  all  the  time,"  she 
complained  to  Aunt  Melvy,  who  had  watched 
the  performance  with  great  glee. 

"Yas,  'm,"  said  Aunt  Melvy,  with  a  fond 
look  at  his  retreating  figure.  "He  's  jus' 
like  a '  Irish  potato :  when  he  ain  't  powerful 
cold,  he  's  powerful  hot. ' ' 


130 


CHAPTER  XII 

ANTICIPATION 

HE  day  before  the  fair  Sandy 
employed  a  substitute  at  the 
post-office,  in  order  to  give 
the  entire  day  to  preparation 
for  the  festivities  to  come. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  went  to  town, 
where,  after  much  consultation  and  many 
changes  of  mind,  he  purchased  a  suit  of 
clothes.  Then  he  rented  the  town  dress- 
suit,  to  the  chagrin  of  three  other  boys  who 
had  each  counted  upon  it  for  the  coming 
hop. 

With  the  precious  burden  under  his  arm, 
Sandy  hastened  home.  He  spread  the  two 
coats  on  the  bed,  placing  a  white  shirt  inside 
each,  and  a  necktie  about  each  collar.  Then 
he  stood  back  and  admired. 

131 


Sandy 

"It  's  meself  I  can  see  in  them  both  this 
minute !"  he  exclaimed  with  delight. 

His  shoes  were  polished  until  they  were 
resplendent,  but  they  lost  much  of  their 
glory  during  subsequent  practising  of  steps 
before  the  mirror.  He  even  brushed  and 
cleaned  his  old  clothes,  for  he  foresaw  the 
pain  of  laying  aside  the  raiment  of  Solomon 
for  dingy  every-day  garments. 

Toward  noon  he  went  down-stairs  to  con 
tinue  his  zealous  efforts  in  the  kitchen.  This 
met  with  Aunt  Melvy's  instant  disapproval. 

"For  mercy  sake,  git  out  ob  my  way!" 
she  cried,  as  she  squeezed  past  the  ironing- 
board  to  get  to  the  stove.  "I  '11  press  yer 
pants,  ef  you  'U  jus '  take  yourself  outen  de 
kitchen.  Be  sure  don't  burn  'em?  Look 
a-heah,  chile ;  I  was  pressin '  pants  'fore  yer 
paw  was  wearin '  'em ! ' ' 

Aunt  Melvy's  temper  was  a  thing  not  to 
be  trifled  with  when  a  "protracted  meeting" 
was  in  session.  For  years  she  had  been  the 
black  sheep  in  the  spiritual  fold.  Her  ear 
nest  desire  to  get  religion  and  the  untiring 

132 


Anticipation 

efforts  of  the  exhorters  had  alike  proved 
futile.  Year  after  year  she  sat  on  the 
mourners '  bench,  seeking  the  light  and  fail 
ing  each  time  to  "come  th'u  V 

This  discouraging  condition  of  affairs 
sorely  afflicted  her,  and  produced  a  kind  of 
equinoctial  agitation  in  the  Hollis  kitchen. 

Sandy  went  on  into  the  dining-room,  but 
he  found  no  welcome  there.  Mrs.  Hollis 
was  submerged  in  pastry.  The  county  fair 
was  her  one  dissipation,  and  her  highest 
ambition  was  to  take  premiums.  Every 
year  she  sent  forth  battalions  of  cakes,  pies, 
sweet  pickles,  beaten  biscuit,  crocheted 
doilies,  and  crazy-quilts  to  capture  the  blue 
ribbon. 

1 1  Don 't  put  the  window  up ! "  she  warned 
Sandy.  "I  know  it  's  stifling,  but  I  can't 
have  the  dust  coming  in.  Why  don't  you 
go  on  in  the  house  ?" 

Mrs.  Hollis  always  spoke  of  the  kitchen 
and  dining-room  as  if  they  were  not  a  part 
of  the  house. 

' '  Can 't  ye  tell  me  something  that  's  good 

133 


Sandy 

for  the  sunburn?"  asked  Sandy,  anxiously. 
"It  's  a  dressed-up  shooting-cracker  I  '11  be 
resembling  the  morrow,  in  spite  of  me  fine 
clothes." 

"Buttermilk  and  lemon-juice,"  recom 
mended  Mrs.  Hollis,  as  she  placed  the  last 
marshmallow  on  the  roof  of  a  four-story 
cake. 

Sandy  would  have  endured  any  discom 
fort  that  day  in  order  to  add  one  charm  to 
his  personal  appearance.  He  used  so  many 
lemons  there  were  none  left  for  the  judge's 
lemonade  when  he  came  home  for  dinner. 

"Just  home  from  the  post-office?"  he 
asked  when  he  saw  Sandy  enter  the  dining- 
room  with  his  hat  on. 

"Jimmy  Reed  's  doing  my  work  to-day," 
Sandy  said  apologetically.  "And  if  you 
please,  sir,  I  '11  be  keeping  my  hat  on.  I 
have  just  washed  my  hair,  and  I  want  it  to 
dry  straight." 

The  judge  looked  at  the  suspicious  turn 
of  the  thick  locks  around  the  brim  of  the 
stiff  hat  and  smiled. 

134 


Anticipation 

"Vanitas  vanitatum,  et  oinnia  vanitas," 
lie  quoted.  "How  many  pages  of  Black- 
stone  to-day  ?" 

Sandy  made  a  wry  face  and  winked  at 
Mrs.  Hollis,  but  she  betrayed  him. 

"He  has  been  primping  since  sun-up, " 
she  said.  "  Anybody  would  think  he  was 
going  to  get  married. ' ' 

1 '  Sweet  good  luck  if  I  was ! ' '  cried  Sandy, 
gaily. 

The  judge  put  down  his  fork  and  laid  his 
hand  on  Sandy's  arm.  "You  must  n't  neg 
lect  the  learning,  Sandy.  You  've  made  fine 
progress,  and  I  'm  proud  of  you.  You  've 
worked  your  way  this  far ;  I  '11  help  you  to 
the  top  if  you  '11  keep  a  steady  head." 

"That  I  '11  do,"  cried  Sandy,  grasping 
his  hand.  "It  's  old  Moseley's  promise  I 
have  for  steady  work  at  the  academy.  If  I 
can't  climb  the  ladder,  with  you  at  one  end 
and  success  at  the  other,  then  I  'm  not  much 
of  a  chicken— I  mean  I  'm  not  much." 

"Well,  you  better  begin  by  leaving  the 
girls  alone,"  said  Mrs.  Hollis  as  she  moved 

135 


Sandy 

the  sugar  out  of  his  reach.  "Just  let  one 
drive  by  the  gate,  and  we  don't  have  any 
peace  until  you  know  who  it  is." 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  judge,  as  he 
helped  himself  to  a  corn-dodger  and  two 
kinds  of  preserves,  "I  'm  sorry  to  see  the 
friendship  that  's  sprung  up  between  An 
nette  Fenton  and  young  Nelson.  I  don't 
know  what  the  doctor  's  thinking  about 
to  let  it  go  on.  Nelson  is  hitting  a  pretty 
lively  pace  for  a  youngster.  He  '11  never 
live  to  reap  his  wild  oats,  though.  He  came 
into  the  world  with  consumption,  and  I  don 't 
think  he  will  be  long  getting  out  of  it.  He  's 
always  getting  into  difficulty.  I  have  had 
to  fine  him  twice  in  the  past  month  for 
gambling.  Do  you  see  anything  of  him, 
Sandy!" 

"No,"  said  Sandy,  biting  his  lip.  His 
pride  had  suffered  more  than  once  at  Car 
ter's  condescension. 

"Martha  Meech  must  be  worse,"  said 
Mrs.  Hollis.  "The  up-stairs  blinds  have 
been  closed  all  day." 

136 


Anticipation 


Sandy  pushed  back  the  apple-dumpling 
which  Aunt  Melvy  had  made  at  his  special 
request. 

'  *  Perhaps  I  can  be  helping  them, ' '  he  said 
as  he  rose  from  the  table. 

When  he  came  back  he  sat  for  a  long 
time  with  his  head  on  his  hand. 

"Is  she  much  worse ?"  asked  Mrs.  Hollis. 

"Yes,"  said  Sandy;  "and  it  's  little  that 
I  can  do,  though  she  's  coughing  her  life 
away.  It  's  a  shame— and  a  shame!"  he 
cried  in  hot  rebellion. 

All  his  vanity  of  the  morning  was  dis 
pelled  by  the  tragedy  taking  place  next  door. 
He  paced  back  and  forth  between  the  two 
houses,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  help,  and 
proposing  all  sorts  of  impossible  things. 

When  inaction  became  intolerable,  he 
plunged  into  his  law  books,  at  first  not  com 
prehending  a  line,  but  gradually  becoming 
more  and  more  interested,  until  at  last  the 
whole  universe  seemed  to  revolve  about  a 
case  that  was  decided  in  a  previous  century. 

When  he  rose  it  was  almost  dusk,  and  he 

9  137 


Sandy 

came  back  to  the  present  world  with  a  start. 
His  first  thought  was  of  Kuth  and  the  raptur 
ous  prospect  of  seeing  her  on  the  morrow; 
a  swift  doubt  followed  as  to  whether  a  white 
tie  or  a  black  one  was  proper;  then  a  sud 
den  fear  that  he  had  forgotten  how  to  dance. 
He  jumped  to  his  feet,  took  a  couple  of  steps 
—when  he  remembered  Martha. 

The  house  seemed  suddenly  quiet  and 
lonesome.  He  went  from  the  sitting-room 
to  the  kitchen,  but  neither  Mrs.  Hollis  nor 
Aunt  Melvy  was  to  be  found.  Returning 
through  the  front  hall,  he  opened  the  door 
to  the  parlor. 

The  sight  that  met  him  was  somewhat 
gruesome.  Everything  was  carefully  wrap 
ped  in  newspapers.  Pictures  enveloped  in 
newspapers  hung  on  the  walls,  newspaper 
chairs  stood  primly  around  a  newspaper 
table.  In  the  dim  twilight  it  looked  like  the 
very  ghost  of  a  room. 

Sandy  threw  open  the  window,  and  going 
over  to  the  newspaper  piano,  untied  the 
wrappings.  He  softly  touched  the  keys  and 

138 


Anticipation 

began  to  sing  in  an  undertone.  Old  Irish 
love-songs,  asleep  in  his  heart  since  they 
were  first  dropped  there  by  the  merry 
mother  lips,  stirred  and  awoke.  The  ac 
companiment  limped  along  lamely  enough; 
but  the  singer,  with  hat  over  his  eyes  and 
lemon-juice  on  his  nose,  sang  on  as  only  a 
poet  and  lover  can.  His  rich,  full  voice 
lingered  on  the  soft  Celtic  syllables,  dwelt 
tenderly  on  the  diminutive  endearments, 
while  his  heart,  overcharged  with  sorrow 
and  joy  and  romance  and  dreams,  spilled 
over  in  an  ecstasy  of  song. 

Next  door,  in  an  upper  bedroom,  a  tired 
soul  paused  in  its  final  flight.  Martha 
Meech,  stretching  forth  her  thin  arms  in  the 
twilight,  listened  as  one  might  listen  to  the 
strains  of  an  angel  choir. 

"It  's  Sandy, "  she  said,  and  the  color 
came  to  her  cheeks,  the  light  to  her  eyes. 
For,  like  Sandy,  she  had  youth  and  she  had 
love,  and  life  itself  could  give  no  more. 


139 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE    COUNTY    FAIK 

HE  big  amphitheater  at  the 
fair  grounds  was  filled  as 
completely  and  evenly  as  a 
new  paper  of  pins.  Through 
the  air  floated  that  sweetest 
of  all  music  to  the  childish  ear— the  unceas 
ing  wail  of  expiring  balloons ;  and  childish 
souls  were  held  together  in  one  sticky  ec 
stasy  of  molasses  candy  and  pop-corn  balls. 
Behind  the  highest  row  of  seats  was  a 
promenade,  and  in  front  of  the  lowest  was 
another.  Around  these  circled  a  procession 
which,  though  constantly  varying,  held  cer 
tain  recurring  figures  like  the  charging 
steeds  on  a  merry-go-round.  There  was 
Dr.  Fenton,  in  his  tight  Confederate  suit; 
he  had  been  circling  in  that  same  procession 

140 


The  County  Fair 

at  every  fair  for  twenty  years.  There  was 
the  judge,  lank  of  limb  and  loose  of  joint, 
who  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  all  the 
strangers  and  invite  them  to  take  dinner  in 
his  booth,  where  Mrs.  Hollis  reveled  in  a 
riot  of  pastry.  A  little  behind  him  strutted 
Mr.  Moseley,  sending  search-lights  of  scru 
tiny  over  the  crowd  in  order  to  discover  the 
academy  boys  who  might  be  wasting  their 
time  upon  unlettered  femininity. 

At  one  side  of  the  amphitheater,  raised  to 
a  place  of  honor,  was  the  courting-box.  Here 
the  aristocratic  youth  of  the  country-side 
met  to  measure  hearts,  laugh  at  the  rustics, 
and  enjoy  the  races. 

In  previous  years  Sandy  had  watched  the 
courting-box  from  below,  but  this  year  he 
was  in  the  center  of  it.  Jests  and  greetings 
from  the  boys,  and  cordial  glances  from 
maidens  both  known  and  unknown,  bade  him 
welcome.  But,  in  spite  of  his  reception,  and 
in  spite  of  his  irreproachable  toilet,  he  was 
not  having  a  good  time.  With  hands  in 
pockets  and  a  scowl  on  his  face,  he  stared 

141 


Sandy 

gloomily  over  the  crowd.  Twice  a  kernel 
of  pop-corn  struck  his  ear,  but  he  did  not 
turn. 

Above  him,  Annette  Fenton  was  fathoms 
deep  in  a  flirtation  with  Carter  Nelson; 
while  below  him,  Euth,  in  the  daintiest  of 
gowns  and  the  largest  of  hats,  was  wasting 
her  sweetness  on  the  desert  countenance  of 
Sid  Gray. 

Sandy  refused  to  seek  consolation  else 
where;  he  sat  like  a  Spartan  hero,  and 
calmly  watched  his  heart  being  consumed  in 
the  flames. 

This  hour,  for  which  he  had  been  living, 
this  longed-for  opportunity  of  being  near 
Euth  and  possibly  of  speaking  to  her,  was 
slipping  away,  and  she  did  not  even  know 
he  was  there. 

He  became  fiercely  critical  of  Sid  Gray. 
He  rejoiced  in  his  stoutness  and  took  grim 
pleasure  in  the  fact  that  his  necktie  had 
slipped  up  at  the  back.  He  looked  at  his 
hand  as  it  rested  on  the  back  of  the  seat; 
it  was  plump  and  white.  Sandy  held  out 

142 


The  County  Fair 

his  own  broad,  muscular  palm,  hardened  and 
roughened  by  work.  Then  he  put  it  in  his 
pocket  again  and  sighed. 

The  afternoon  wore  gaily  on.  Louder 
grew  the  chorus  of  balloons  and  stickier 
grew  the  pop-corn  balls.  The  courting-box 
was  humming  with  laughter  and  jest.  The 
Spartan  hero  began  to  rebel.  Why  should 
he  allow  himself  to  be  tortured  thus  when 
there  might  be  a  way  of  escape?  He  reck 
lessly  resolved  to  put  his  fate  to  the  test. 
Rising  abruptly,  he  went  down  to  the  prom 
enade  and  passed  slowly  along  the  courting- 
box,  scanning  the  occupants  as  if  in  search 
of  some  one.  It  was  on  his  fourth  round 
that  she  saw  him,  and  the  electric  shock 
almost  lost  him  his  opportunity.  He  looked 
twice  to  make  sure  she  had  spoken;  then, 
with  a  bit  of  his  heart  in  his  throat  and  the 
rest  in  his  eyes,  he  went  up  the  steps  and 
awkwardly  held  out  his  hand. 

The  world  made  several  convulsive  cir 
cuits  in  its  orbit  and  the  bass  drum  per 
formed  a  solo  inside  his  head  during  the 

143 


Sandy 

moment  that  followed.  When  the  tumult 
subsided  he  found  a  pair  of  bright  brown 
eyes  smiling  up  at  him  and  a  small  hand 
clasped  in  his. 

This  idyllic  condition  was  interrupted  by  a 
disturbance  on  the  promenade,  which  caused 
them  both  to  look  in  that  direction.  Some 
one  was  pushing  roughly  through  the  crowd. 

< '  Hi,  there,  Kilday !     Sandy  Kilday ! ' ' 

A  heavy-set  fellow  was  making  his  way 
noisily  toward  them.  His  suit  of  broad 
checks,  his  tan  shoes,  and  his  large  diamond 
stud  were  strangers,  but  his  little  close-set 
eyes,  protruding  teeth,  and  bushy  hair  were 
hatefully  familiar. 

Sandy  started  forward,  and  those  nearest 
laughed  when  the  stranger  looked  at  him 
and  said : 

1  i  My  guns !  Git  on  to  his  togs !  Ain  't  he 
a  duke!" 

Sandy  got  Ricks  out  of  the  firing-line, 
around  the  corner  of  the  courting-box.  His 
face  was  crimson  with  mortification,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  him  to  be  angry. 

144 


The  County  Fair 

"What  brought  you  back!"  he  asked 
huskily. 

"Hosses." 

' '  Are  you  going  to  drive  this  afternoon  ! ' ' 

"Yep.  One  of  young  Nelson 's  colts  in 
the  last  ring.  Say,"  he  added,  "he  's  game, 
all  right.  Me  and  him  have  done  biz  before. 
Know  him?" 

* '  Carter  Nelson  !  Oh,  yes ;  I  know  him, ' ' 
said  Sandy,  impatient  to  be  rid  of  his  com 
panion. 

' '  Me  and  him  are  a  winnin '  couple, ' '  said 
Ricks.  "We  plays  the  races  straight  along. 
He  puts  up  the  dough,  and  I  puts  up  the  tips. 
Say,  he  's  one  of  these  here  tony  toughs; 
he  won't  let  on  he  knows  me  when  he  's 
puttin'  on  dog.  What  about  you,  Sandy! 
Makin'  good  these  days!" 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Sandy,  indifferently. 

"You  ain't  goin'  to  school  yet!" 

"That  I  am,"  said  Sandy;  "and  next 
year,  too,  if  the  money  holds  out. ' ' 

"Golly  gosh!"  said  Kicks,  incredulously. 
"Well,  I  got  to  be  hikin'  back.  The  next 

145 


Sandy 

is  my  entry.    I  '11  look  you  up  after  while. 
So-long  I" 

He  shambled  off,  and  Sandy  watched  his 
broad-checked  back  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
crowd. 

That  Ricks  should  have  turned  up  at  that 
critical  moment  seemed  a  wilful  prank  on 
the  part  of  fate.  Sandy  bit  his  lip  and  raged 
inwardly.  He  had  a  wild  impulse  to  rush 
back  to  Ruth,  seize  her  hand,  and  begin 
where  he  had  left  off.  He  might  have  done 
it,  too,  had  not  the  promenade  happened  to 
land  Dr.  Fenton  before  him  at  that  mo 
ment. 

The  doctor  was  behaving  in  a  most  ex 
traordinary  and  unmilitary  way.  He  had 
stepped  out  of  the  ranks,  and  was  perform 
ing  strange  manoeuvers  about  a  knothole 
that  looked  into  the  courting-box.  When  he 
saw  Sandy  he  opened  fire. 

"Look  at  her!  Look  at  her!"  he  whis 
pered.  "Whenever  I  pass  she  talks  fo 
Jimmy  Reed  on  this  side ;  but  the  moment 
she  thinks  I  ?m  not  looking,  sir,  she  talks 

146 


The  County  Fair 

to  Nelson  on  the  other!  Kilday,"  he  went 
on,  shaking  his  finger  impressively,  "that 
little  girl  is  as  slick  as — a  blame  Yankee! 
But  she  '11  not  outwit  me.  I  'm  going  right 
up  there  and  take  her  home.  > ' 

Sandy  laughingly  held  his  arm.  It  was 
not  the  first  timtf  the  doctor  had  confided  in 
him.  "No,  no,  doctor, "  he  said;  "I  '11  be 
the  watch-dog  for  ye.  Let  me  go  and  stay 
with  Annette,  and  if  Carter  Nelson  gets  a 
word  in  her  ear,  it  '11  be  because  I  Ve  for 
gotten  how  to  talk." 

"Will  you!"  asked  the  doctor,  anxiously. 
'  *  Nelson  's  a  drunkard.  I  'd  rather  see  my 
little  girl  dead  than  married  to  him.  But 
she  's  wilful,  Kilday;  when  she  was  just  a 
baby  she  'd  sit  with  her  little  pink  toes 
curled  up  for  an  hour  to  keep  me  from  put 
ting  on  her  shoes  when  she  wanted  to  go 
barefoot !  She  7s  a  fighter, ' '  he  added,  with 
a  gruff  chuckle  that  ended  in  a  sigh,  "but 
she  's  all  I  Ve  got." 

Sandy  gripped  him  by  the  hand,  then 
turned  the  corner  into  the  courting-box. 

147 


Sandy 


Instantly  his  eager  eyes  sought  Ruth,  but 
she  did  not  look  up  as  he  passed. 

He  unceremoniously  took  his  seat  beside 
Annette,  to  the  indignation  of  little  Jimmy 
Reed.  It  was  hard  to  accept  Carter's  pa 
tronizing  tolerance,  but  a  certain  curve  to 
his  eyebrows  and  the  turn  of  his  head  served 
as  perpetual  reminders  of  Ruth. 

Annette  greeted  Sandy  effusively.  She 
had  found  Jimmy  entirely  too  limber  a  foil 
to  use  with  any  degree  of  skill,  and  she  knew 
from  past  experience  that  Sandy  and  Carter 
were  much  better  matched.  If  Sid  Gray  had 
been  there  also,  she  would  have  been  quite 
happy.  In  Annette 's  estimation  it  was  all  a 
mistake  about  love  being  a  game  for  two. 

"Who  was  your  stylish  friend?"  she 
asked  Sandy. 

"Ricks  Wilson,"  said  Sandy,  shortly. 

Carter  smiled  condescendingly.  "Your 
old  business  partner,  I  believe!" 

"Before  he  was  yours,"  said  Sandy. 

This  was  not  at  all  to  Annette's  taste. 
They  were  not  even  thinking  about  her. 

148 


The  County  Fair 

1  i  How  m-many  dances  do  you  want  for  to 
night  !"  she  asked  Sandy. 

"The  first  four. " 

She  wrote  them  on  the  corner  of  her  fan. 
"Yes?" 

"The  last  four." 

"Tee!" 

"And  the  four  in  between.  What  's  that 
on  your  fan?" 

"Nothing." 

"But  it  is.    Let  me  see." 

"Will  you  look  at  it  easy  and  not  tell?" 
she  whispered,  taking  advantage  of  Carter 's 
sudden  interest  in  the  judges '  stand. 

* '  Sure  and  I  will.     Just  a  peep.     Come ! ' ' 

She  opened  the  fan  half-way,  and  dis 
closed  a  tiny  picture  of  himself  sewed  on 
one  of  the  slats. 

"And  it  's  meself  that  you  care  for,  An 
nette  ! "  he  whispered.  ' 1 1  knew  it,  you  ras 
cal,  you  rogue!" 

"Let  g-go  my  hand,"  she  whispered,  half 
laughing,  half  scolding.  "Look,  Carter, 
what  I  have  on  my  fan!"  and,  to  Sandy's 

149 


Sandy 

chagrin,  she  opened  the  fan  on  the  reverse 
side  and  disclosed  a  picture  of  Nelson. 

But  Carter  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears 
for  her  now.  His  whole  attention  was 
centered  on  the  ring,  where  the  most  im 
portant  event  of  the  day  was  about  to  take 
place. 

It  was  a  trial  of  two-year-olds  for  speed 
and  durability.  There  were  four  entries— 
two  bays,  a  sorrel,  and  Carter's  own  little 
thoroughbred  "  Nettie. "  He  watched  her 
as  she  pranced  around  the  ring  under 
Ricks 's  skilful  handling;  she  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  bays,  but  the  sorrel  was  a 
close  competitor. 

"Oh,  this  is  your  race,  is  n't  it?"  cried 
Annette  as  the  band  struck  up  "  Dixie. " 
"Where  's  my  namesake?  The  pretty  one 
just  c-coming,  with  the  ugly  driver?  Why, 
he  's  Sandy's  friend,  is  n't  he?" 

Sandy  winced  under  her  teasing,  but  he 
held  his  peace. 

The  first  heat  Nettie  won ;  the  second,  the 
sorrel ;  the  third  brought  the  grand  stand  to 

150 


The  County  Fair 

its  feet.  Even  the  revolving  procession 
halted  breathless. 

''Now  they  're  off!"  cried  Annette,  ex 
citedly.  ' i  Mercy,  how  they  g-go !  Nettie  is 
a  little  ahead;  look,  Sandy!  She  's  gain 
ing!  No;  the  sorrel  's  ahead.  Carter, 
your  driver  is  g-going  too  close!  He  's 
g-going  to  smash  in—  Oh,  look!" 

There  was  a  crash  of  wheels  and  a  great 
commotion.  Several  women  screamed,  and 
a  number  of  men  rushed  into  the  ring. 
When  Sandy  got  there,  the  greater  crowd 
was  not  around  the  sorrel's  driver,  who  lay 
in  a  heap  against  the  railing  with  a  broken 
leg  and  a  bruised  head ;  it  was  around  Ricks 
Wilson  in  angry  protest  and  indignation. 

The  most  vehement  of  them  all  was  Judge 
Hollis,— the  big,  easy-going  judge,— whose 
passion,  once  roused,  was  a  thing  to  be  reck 
oned  with. 

1 '  It  was  a  dastardly  piece  of  cowardice, ' ' 
he  cried.  ' '  You  all  saw  what  he  did !  Call 
the  sheriff,  there!  I  intend  to  prosecute 
him  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law. ' ' 

151 


Sandy 

Ricks,  with  snapping  eyes  and  snarling 
mouth,  glanced  anxiously  around  at  the 
angry  faces.  He  was  looking  for  Carter 
Nelson,  but  Carter  had  discreetly  departed. 
It  was  Sandy  whom  he  spied,  and  instantly 
called :  i  l  Kilday,  you  '11  see  me  through  this 
mess?  You  know  it  was  n't  none  of  my 
fault." 

Sandy  pushed  his  way  to  the  judge's  side. 
He  had  never  hated  the  sight  of  Ricks  so 
much  as  at  that  moment. 

1 1  It  's  Ricks  Wilson, ' '  he  whispered  to  the 
judge— "  the  boy  I  used  to  peddle  with. 
Don't  be  sending  him  to  jail,  sir.  I  '11— 
I  '11  go  his  bail  if  you  '11  be  letting  him 
go." 

"  Indeed  you  won't!"  thundered  the 
judge.  "You  to  take  money  you  've  saved 
for  your  education  to  help  this  scoundrel, 
this  rascal,  this  half  murderer ! ' ' 

The  crowd  shouted  its  approval  as  it 
opened  for  the  sheriff.  Ricks  was  not  the 
kind  to  make  it  easy  for  his  captors,  and  a 
lively  skirmish  ensued. 

152 


The  County  Fair 

As  he  was  led  away  he  turned  to  the 
crowd  back  of  him  and  shook  his  fist  in  the 
judge's  face. 

"You  done  this,"  he  cried.  "I  '11  git 
even  with  you,  if  I  go  to  hell  fer  it!" 

The  judge  laughed  contemptuously,  but 
Sandy  watched  Ricks  depart  with  troubled 
eyes.  He  knew  that  he  meant  what  he  said. 


10  ins 


CHAPTER   XIV 

A  COUNCIL  OF  WAE 

|HILE  the  frivolous-minded 
of  Clayton  were  bent  upon 
the  festivities  of  fair  week, 
it  must  not  be  imagined  that 
the  grave  and  thoughtful 
contingent,  which  acts  as  ballast  in  every 
community,  was  idle. 

Mr.  Moseley  was  a  self-constituted  leader 
in  a  crusade  against  dancing.  At  his  ear 
nest  suggestion,  every  minister  in  town 
agreed  to  preach  upon  the  subject  at  prayer- 
meeting  the  Wednesday  evening  of  the  hop. 
They  held  a  preliminary  meeting  before 
services  in  the  study  of  the  Hard-Shell  Bap 
tist  Church.  Mr.  Moseley  occupied  the 
chair,  a  Jove  of  righteousness  dispensing 

154 


A  Council  of  War 

thunderbolts  of  indignation  to  his  satellites. 
A  fringe  of  scant  hair  retreated  respectfully 
from  the  unadorned  dome  which  crowned 
his  personal  edifice.  His  manner  was  most 
serious  and  his  every  utterance  freighted 
with  importance. 

Beside  him  sat  his  rival  in  municipal  au 
thority,  the  Methodist  preacher.  He  had  a 
short  upper  lip  and  a  square  lower  jaw, 
and  a  way  of  glaring  out  of  his  convex 
glasses  that  gave  a  comical  imitation  of  a 
bullfrog  in  debate.  This  was  the  first  oc 
casion  in  the  history  of  the  town  when  he 
and  Mr.  Moseley  had  met  in  friendly  con 
cord.  For  the  last  few  days  the  united  war 
upon  a  common  enemy  had  knitted  their 
souls  in  a  bond  of  brotherly  affection. 

When  the  half-dozen  preachers  had  as 
sembled,  Mr.  Moseley  rose  with  dignity. 
"My  dear  brethren, "  he  began  impres 
sively,  ."the  occasion  is  one  which  permits 
of  no  trifling.  The  dancing  evil  is  one  which 
has  menaced  our  community  for  generations 
—a  viper  to  be  seized  and  throttled  with  a 

155 


Sandy 

firm  hand.  The  waltz,- the— the  Highland 
fling,  the— the—  " 

' '  German  ?"  suggested  some  one  faintly. 

"Yes,  the  german— are  all  invasions  of 
the  Evil  One.  The  crowded  rooms,  the  un 
holy  excitement,  are  degenerating  and  de 
basing.  I  am  glad  to  report  one  young  soul 
who  has  turned  from  temptation  and  told 
me  only  to-day  of  his  intention  of  refraining 
from  partaking  in  the  unrighteous  amuse 
ment  of  this  evening.  That,  brethren,  was 
the  nephew  of  my  pastor. ' ' 

The  little  Presbyterian  preacher,  thus 
thrust  into  the  light  cast  from  the  halo  of 
his  regenerate  nephew,  stirred  uneasily.  He 
.was  contemplating  the  expediency  of  his 
youthful  kinsman  in  making  the  lack  of  a 
dress-suit  serve  as  a  means  of  lightening  his 
coming  examinations  at  the  academy. 

Mr.  Moseley,  now  fully  launched  upon  a 
flood  of  eloquence,  was  just  concluding  a 
brilliant  argument.  "Look  at  the  round 
dance!"  he  cried.  "Who  can  behold  and 
not  shudder ?" 

156 


A  Council  of  War 

Mr.  Meech,  who  had  not  beheld  and  there 
fore  could  not  shudder,  ventured  a  timid 
inquiry : 

4 'Mr.  Moseley,  just  what  is  a  round 
dance !" 

Mr.  Moseley  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
wheeled  the  table  nearer  the  window.  ' i  Will 
you  just  step  forward,  Mr.  Meech!'7 

With  difficulty  Mr.  Meech  extricated  him 
self  from  the  corner  to  which  the  pressure 
of  so  many  guests  had  relegated  him.  He 
slipped  apologetically  to  the  front  and  took 
his  stand  beneath  the  shadow  of  Mr.  Mose 
ley  's  presence.  Prayer-meeting  being  but 
a  semi-official  occasion,  he  wore  his  second- 
best  coat,  and  it  had  followed  the  shrinking 
habit  established  by  its  predecessors. 

"Now,"  commanded  Mr.  Moseley,  "place 
your  hand  upon  my  shoulder. ' ' 

Mr.  Meech  did  so  with  self-conscious 
gravity  and  serious  apprehensions  as  to  the 
revelations  to  follow. 

"Now,"  continued  Mr.  Moseley,  "I  place 
my  arm  about  your  waist— thus." 

157 


Sandy 

4 'Surely  not,"  objected  Mr.  Meech,  in  em 
barrassment. 

But  Mr.  Moseley  was  relentless.  "I  as 
sure  you  it  is  true.  And  the  other  hand— ' ' 
He  stopped  in  grave  deliberation. 

The  Methodist  brother,  who  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  overcharged  with 
suppressed  knowledge,  could  contain  him 
self  no  longer. 

"That  's  not  right  at  all!'7  he  burst 
forth  irritably.  "You  don't  hook  your 
arm  around  like  that!  You  hold  the  left 
arm  out  and  saw  it  up  and  down— like 
this." 

He  snatched  the  bewildered  Mr.  Meech 
from  Mr.  Moseley 's  embrace,  and  humming 
a  waltz,  stepped  briskly  about  the  limited 
space,  to  the  consternation  of  the  onlookers, 
who  hastened  to  tuck  their  feet  under  their 
chairs. 

Mr.  Meech,  looking  as  if  he  were  being 
backed  into  eternity,  stumbled  on  the  rug 
and  clutched  violently  at  the  table-cover.  In 
his  downfall  he  carried  his  instructor  with 

158 


A  Council  of  War 

him,  and  a  deluge  of  tracts  from  the  table 
above  followed. 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  there  was  a 
sound  from  the  church  next  door.  Mr. 
Meech  sat  up  among  the  debris  and  lis 
tened.  It  was  the  opening  hymn  for 
prayer-meeting. 


159 


CHAPTER  XV 


HELL    AND    HEAVEN 

HE  events  of  the  afternoon, 
stirring  as  they  had  been, 
were  soon  dismissed  from 
Sandy's  mind.  The  ap 
proaching  hop  possessed 
right  of  way  over  every  other  thought. 

By  the  combined  assistance  of  Mrs.  Hollis 
and  Aunt  Melvy,  he  had  been  ready  at  half- 
past  seven.  The  dance  did  not  begin  until 
nine;  but  he  was  to  take  Annette,  and  the 
doctor,  whose  habits  were  as  fixed  as  the 
numbers  on  a  clock,  had  insisted  that  she 
should  attend  prayer-meeting  as  usual  be 
fore  the  dance. 

In  the  little  Hard-Shell  Baptist  Church 
the  congregation  had  assembled  and  ser 
vices  had  begun  before  Mr.  Meech  arrived. 
He  appeared  singularly  flushed  and  breath- 

160  ' 


Hell  and  Heaven 

less,  and  caused  some  confusion  by  giving 
out  the  hymn  which  had  just  been  sung. 
It  was  not  until  he  became  stirred  by  the 
power  of  his  theme  that  he  gained  com 
posure. 

In  the  front  seat  Dr.  Fenton  drowsed 
through  the  discourse.  Next  to  him,  her 
party  dress  and  slipper-bag  concealed  by  a 
rain-coat,  sat  Annette,  hot  and  rebellious, 
and  in  anything  but  a  prayerful  frame  of 
mind.  Beside  her  sat  Sandy,  -rigid  with  ele 
gance,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  preacher,  but 
his  thoughts  on  his  feet.  For,  stationary 
though  he  was,  he  was  really  giving  himself 
the  benefit  of  a  final  rehearsal,  and  mentally 
performing  steps  of  intricate  and  marvelous 
variety. 

' '  Stop  moving  your  feet ! ' '  whispered  An 
nette.  "You  '11  step  on  my  dress." 

"Is  it  the  mazurka  that  's  got  the  hic 
coughs  in  the  middle?"  asked  Sandy,  anx 
iously. 

Mr.  Meech  paused  and  looked  at  them 
over  his  spectacles  in  plaintive  reproach. 

161 


Sandy 

Then  he  wandered  on  into  sixthlies  and 
seventhlies  of  increasing  length.  Before  the 
final  amen  had  died  upon  the  air,  Annette 
and  Sandy  had  escaped  to  their  reward. 

The  hop  was  given  in  the  town  hall,  a 
large,  dreary-looking  room  with  a  raised 
platform  at  one  end,  where  Johnson's  band 
introduced  instruments  and  notes  that  had 
never  met  before. 

To  Sandy  it  was  a  hall  of  Olympus,  where 
filmy-robed  goddesses  moved  to  the  music  of 
the  spheres. 

" Is  n't  the  floor  g-grand?"  cried  Annette, 
with  a  little  run  and  a  slide.  "I  could  just 
d-die  dancing." 

"What  may  the  chalk  line  be  for!" 
asked  Sandy. 

"That  's  to  keep  the  stags  b-back." 

"The  stags?"  His  spirits  fell  before 
this  new  complication. 

"Yes;  the  boys  without  partners,  you 
know.  They  have  to  stay  b-back  of  the 
chalk  line  and  b-break  in  from  there.  You  '11 
catch  on  right  $way.  There  's  your  d-dress- 

162 


Hell  and  Heaven 

ing-room  over  there.  Don't  bother  about 
my  card;  it  's  been  filled  a  week.  Is 
there  anyb-body  you  want  to  dance  with 
especially  1 " 

Sandy's  eyes  answered  for  him.  They 
were  held  by  a  vision  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  and  he  was  blinded  to  everything  else. 

Half  surrounded  by  a  little  group  stood 
Buth  Nelson,  red-lipped,  bright-eyed,  eager, 
her  slender  white-clad  figure  on  tiptoe  with 
buoyant  expectancy.  The  crimson  rose 
caught  in  her  hair  kept  impatient  time  to 
the  tap  of  her  restless  high-heeled  slipper, 
and  she  swayed  and  sang  with  the  music  in 
a  way  to  set  the  sea-waves  dancing. 

It  was  small  matter  to  Sandy  that  the  lace 
on  her  dress  had  belonged  to  her  great- 
grandmother,  or  that  the  pearls  about  her 
round  white  throat  had  been  worn  by  an 
ancestor  who  was  lady  in  waiting  to  a  queen 
of  France.  He  only  knew  she  meant  every 
thing  beautiful  in  the  world  to  him,— music 
and  springtime  and  dawn,— and  that  when 
she  smiled  it  was  sunlight  in  his  heart. 

163 


Sandy 

"I  don't  think  you  can  g-get  a  dance 
there, "  said  Annette,  following  his  gaze. 
"She  is  always  engaged  ahead.  But  I  '11 
find  out,  if  you  w-want  me  to." 

' 1  Would  you,  now  ? ' '  cried  Sandy  ,  fer 
vently  pressing  her  hand.  Then  he  stopped 
short.  "Annette,"  he  said  wistfully,  "do 
you  think  she  '11  be  caring  to  dance  with  a 
boy  like  me?" 

"Of  course  she  will,  if  you  k-keep  off  her 
toes  and  don't  forget  to  count  the  time. 
Hurry  and  g-get  off  your  things ;  I  want  you 
to  try  it  before  the  crowd  comes.  There  are 
only  a  few  couples  for  you  to  bump  into 
now,  and  there  will  be  a  hundred  after  a 
while." 

0  the  fine  rapture  of  that  first  moment 
when  Sandy  found  he  could  dance !  An 
nette  knocked  away  his  remaining  doubts 
and  fears  and  boldly  launched  him  into  the 
merry  whirl.  The  first  rush  was  breathless, 
carrying  all  before  it;  but  after  a  moment's 
awful  uncertainty  he  settled  into  the  step 
glided  away  over  the  shining  floor, 

164 


Hell  and  Heaven 

counting  his  knots  to  be  sure,  but  sailing  tri 
umphantly  forward  behind  the  flutter  of 
Annette's  pink  ribbons. 

He  was  introduced  right  and  left,  and  he 
asked  every  girl  he  met  to'dance.  It  made 
little  difference  who  she  happened  to  be, 
for  in  imagination  she  was  always  the  same. 
Annette  had  secured  for  him  the  last  dance 
with  Ruth,  and  he  intended  to  practise  every 
moment  until  that  magic  hour  should  ar 
rive. 

But  youth  reckons  not  with  circum 
stance.  Just  when  all  sails  were  set  and 
he  was  nearing  perfection,  he  met  with 
a  disaster  which  promptly  relegated  him 
to  the  dry-dock.  His  partner  did  not 
dance ! 

When  he  looked  at  her,  he  found  that  she 
was  tall  and  thin  and  vivacious,  and  he  felt 
that  she  must  have  been  going  to  hops  for  a 
very  long  time. 

"I  hate  dancing,  don't  you?"  she  said. 
"Let  's  go  over  there,  out  of  the  crowd,  and 
have  a  nice  long  talk." 

165 


Sandy 

Sandy  glanced  at  the  place  indicated.  It 
seemed  a  long  way  from  base. 

" Would  n't  you  like  to  stand  here  and 
watch  them?"  he  floundered  helplessly. 

i  i  Oh,  dear,  no ;  it  's  too  crowded.  Be 
sides,"  she  added  playfully,  "I  have  heard 
so  much  about  you  and  your  awfully  ro 
mantic  life.  I  just  want  to  know  all  about 
it." 

As  a  trout,  one  moment  in  mid-stream 
swimming  and  frolicking  with  the  best,  finds 
himself  suddenly  snatched  out  upon  the 
bank,  gasping  and  helpless,  so  Sandy  found 
himself  high  and  dry  against  the  wall,  with 
the  insistent  voice  of  his  captor  droning  in 
his  ears. 

She  had  evidently  been  wound  and  set, 
and  Sandy  had  unwittingly  started  the  pen 
dulum. 

' 1  Have  you  ever  been  to  Chicago,  Mr.  Kil- 
day?  No?  It  is  such  a  dear  place;  I  simply 
adore  it.  I  'm  on  my  way  home  from  there 
now.  All  my  men  friends  begged  me  to  stay ; 
they  sent  me  so  many  flowers  I  had  to  keep 

166 


Hell  and  Heaven 

them  in  the  bath-tub.  Was  n't  it  darling 
of  them?  I  just  love  men.  How  long  have 
you  been  in  Clayton,  Mr.  Kilday?" 

He  tried  to  answer  coherently,  but  his 
thoughts  were  in  eager  pursuit  of  a  red  rose 
that  flashed  in  and  out  among  the  dancers. 

"And  you  really  came  over  from  Eng 
land  by  yourself  when  you  were  just  a  small 
boy?  Were  n't  you  clever!  But  I  know 
the  captain  and  all  of  them  made  a  great 
pet  of  you.  Then  you  made  a  walking  tour 
through  the  States ;  I  heard  all  about  it.  It 
was  just  too  romantic  for  any  use.  I  love 
adventure.  My  two  best  friends  are  at  the 
theological  seminary.  One  's  going  to  In 
dia,— he  's  a  blond,— and  one  to  Africa. 
Just  between  us,  I  am  going  with  one  of 
them,  but  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  make 
up  my  mind  which.  I  don 't  know  why  I  am 
telling  you  all  these  things,  Mr.  Kilday,  ex 
cept  that  you  are  so  sweet  and  sympathetic. 
You  understand,  don't  you?" 

He  assured  her  that  he  did  with  more  ve 
hemence  than  was  necessary,  for  he  did  not 

167 


Sandy 

want  her  to  suspect  that  he  had  not  heard 
what  she  said. 

"I  knew  you  did.  I  knew  it  the  moment 
I  shook  hands  with  you.  I  felt  that  we  were 
drawn  to  each  other.  I  am  like  you;  I  am 
just  full  of  magnetism. " 

Sandy  unconsciously  moved  slightly  away : 
he  had  a  sudden  uncomfortable  realization 
that  he  was  the  only  one  within  the  sphere 
of  influence. 

After  two  intermissions  he  suggested  that 
they  go  out  to  the  drug-store  and  get  some 
soda-water.  On  the  steps  they  met  Annette. 

"You  old  f -fraud,"  she  whispered  to 
Sandy  in  passing,  "I  thought  you  did  n't 
like  to  sit  out  d-dances." 

He  smiled  feebly. 

"Don't  you  mind  her  teasing,"  pouted  his 
partner;  "if  we  like  to  talk  better  than  to 
dance,  it  's  our  own  affair." 

Sandy  wished  devoutly  that  it  was  some 
body  else 's.  When  they  returned,  they  went 
back  to  their  old  corner.  The  chairs,  evi 
dently  considering  them  permanent  occu- 

168 


Hell  and  Heaven 

pants,  assumed  an  air  of  familiarity  which 
he  resented. 

"Do  you  know,  you  remind  me  of  an  old 
sweetheart  of  mine,"  resumed  the  voice  of 
his  captor,  coyly.  "He  was  the  first  real 
lover  I  ever  had.  His  eyes  were  big  and 
pensive,  just  like  yours,  and  there  was  al 
ways  that  same  look  in  his  face  that  just 
made  me  want  to  stay  with  him  all  the  time 
to  keep  him  from  being  lonely.  He  was 
awfully  fond  of  me,  but  he  had  to  go  out 
West  to  make  his  fortune,  and  he  married 
before  he  got  back. ' ' 

Sandy  sighed,  ostensibly  in  sympathy,  but 
in  reality  at  his  own  sad  fate.  At  that 
moment  Prometheus  himself  would  not  have 
envied  him  his  state  of  mind.  The  music 
set  his  nerves  tingling  and  the  dancers  beck 
oned  him  on,  yet  he  was  bound  to  his  chair, 
with  no  relief  in  view.  At  the  tenth  in 
termission  he  suggested  soda-water  again, 
after  which  they  returned  to  their  seats. 

' '  I  hope  people  are  n  't  talking  about  us, ' ' 

she  said,  with  a  pleased  laugh.     l  '  I  ought  n't 
11  169 


Sandy 

to  have  given  you  all  these  dances.  It  's 
perfectly  fatal  for  a  girl  to  show  such  pref 
erence  for  one  man.  But  we  are  so  con 
genial,  and  you  do  remind  me—  " 

"If  it  's  embarrassing  to  you— "  began 
Sandy,  grasping  the  straw  with  both  hands. 

"Not  one  bit,"  she  asserted.  "If  you 
would  rather  have  a  good  confidential  time 
here  with  me  than  to  meet  a  lot  of  silly  little 
girls,  then  I  don't  care  what  people  say. 
But,  as  I  was  telling  you,  I  met  him  the  year 
I  came  out,  and  he  was  interested  in  me 
right  off-" 

On  and  on  and  on  she  went,  and  Sandy 
ceased  to  struggle.  He  sank  in  his  chair  in 
dogged  dejection.  He  felt  that  she  had  been 
talking  ever  since  he  was  born,  and  was  go 
ing  to  continue  until  he  died,  and  that  all  he 
could  do  was  to  wait  in  anguish  for  the  end. 
He  watched  the  flushed,  happy  faces  whirl 
ing  by.  How  he  envied  the  boys  their  wilted 
collars!  After  eons  and  eons  of  time  the 
band  played  "Home,  Sweet  Home." 

"  It  's  the  last  dance, ' '  said  she.     ' '  Are  n  't 

170 


Hell  and  Heaven 

you  sorry?  We  Ve  had  a  perfectly  divine 
time—  "  She  got  no  further,  for  her  part 
ner,  faithful  through  many  numbers,  had  de 
serted  his  post  at  last. 

Sandy  pushed  eagerly  through  the  crowd 
and  presented  himself  at  Buth's  side.  She 
was  sitting  with  several  boys  on  the  stage 
steps,  her  cheeks  flushed  from  the  dance,  and 
a  loosened  curl  falling  across  her  bare  shoul 
der.  He  tried  to  claim  his  dance,  but  the 
words,  too  long  confined,  rushed  to  his  lips 
so  madly  as  to  form  a  blockade. 

She  looked  up  and  saw  him— saw  the  long 
ing  and  doubt  in  his  eyes,  and  came  to  his 
rescue. 

6 'Is  n't  this  our  dance,  Mr.  Kilday?"  she 
said,  half  smiling,  half  timidly. 

In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  he  forgot 
his  carefully  practised  bow,  and  the  omis 
sion  brought  such  chagrin  that  he  started 
out  with  the  wrong  foot.  There  was  a  gen 
tle,  ripping  sound,  and  a  quarter  of  a  yard 
of  lace  trailed  from  the  hem  of  his  partner's 
skirt. 

171 


Sandy 

"Did  I  put  me  foot  in  it?"  cried  Sandy, 
in  such  burning  consternation  that  Ruth 
laughed. 

"It  does  n't  matter  a  bit,"  she  said  lightly, 
as  she  stooped  to  pin  it  up.  i  i  It  shows  I  Ve 
had  a  good  time.  Come !  Don 't  let  's  miss 
the  music." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  they  stepped  out 
on  the  polished  floor.  The  blissful  agony  of 
those  first  few  moments  was  intolerably 
sweet. 

She  was  actually  dancing  with  him  (one, 
two,  three;  one,  two,  three).  Her  soft  hair 
was  close  to  his  cheek  (one,  two,  three; 
one,  two,  three).  What  if  he  should  miss  a 
step  (one,  two,  three)— or  fall? 

He  stole  a  glance  at  her ;  she  smiled  reas 
suringly.  Then  he  forgot  all  about  the  steps 
and  counting  time.  He  felt  as  he  had  that 
morning  on  shipboard  when  the  America 
passed  the  Great  Britain.  All  the  joy  of 
boyhood  resurged  through  his  veins,  and  he 
danced  in  a  wild  abandonment  of  bliss; 
for  the  band  was  playing  "Home,  Sweet 

172 


"  Then  lie  forgot  all  about  the  steps  and  counting  time 


Hell  and  Heaven 

Home,"  and  to  Sandy  it  meant  that,  come 
what  might,  within  her  shining  eyes  his 
gipsy  soul  had  found  its  final  home. 

When  the  music  stopped,  and  they  stood, 
breathless  and  laughing,  at  the  dressing- 
room  door,  Ruth  said: 

"I  thought  Annette  told  me  you  were  just 
learning  to  dance !" 

"So  I  am,"  said  Sandy;  "but  me  heart 
never  kept  time  for  me  before ! ' ' 

When  Annette  joined  them  she  looked  up 
at  Sandy  and  smiled. 

"Poor  f- fellow!"  she  said  sympatheti 
cally.  "  What  a  perfectly  horrid  time 
you  Ve  had!" 


175 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   NELSON   HOME 

ILLOWVALE,  the  Nelson 
homestead,  lay  in  the  last 
curve  of  the  river,  just  be 
fore  it  left  the  restrictions 
of  town  for  the  freedom  of 
fields  and  meadows. 

It  was  a  quaint  old  house,  all  over  honey 
suckles  and  bow-windows  and  verandas,  ap 
proached  by  an  oleander-bordered  walk,  and 
sheltered  by  a  wide  circle  of  poplar-  and  oak- 
trees  that  had  nodded  both  approval  and  dis 
approval  over  many  generations  of  Nelsons. 
In  the  dining-room,  on  the  massive  ma 
hogany  table,  lunch  was  laid  for  three.  Car 
ter  sat  at  the  foot,  absorbed  in  a  newspaper, 
while  at  the  head  Mrs.  Nelson  languidly  par 
took  of  her  second  biscuit.  It  was  vulgar, 

176 


The  Nelson  Home 

in  her  estimation,  for  a  lady  to  indulge  in 
more  than  two  biscuits  at  a  meal. 

When  old  Evan  Nelson  died  six  years  be 
fore,  he  had  left  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to 
his  two  grandchildren,  and  a  handsome  al 
lowance  to  his  eldest  son's  widow,  with  the 
understanding  that  she  was  to  take  charge 
of  Ruth  until  that  young  lady  should  become 
of  age. 

Mrs.  Nelson  accepted  the  trust  with  be 
coming  resignation.  The  prospect  of  guid 
ing  a  wealthy  and  obedient  young  person 
through  the  social  labyrinth  to  an  eligible 
marriage  wakened  certain  faculties  that  had 
long  lain  dormant.  It  was  not  until  the 
wealthy  and  obedient  young  person  began 
to  develop  tastes  of  her  own  that  she  found 
the  burden  irksome. 

Nine  months  of  the  year  Ruth  was  at 
boarding-school,  and  the  remaining  three 
she  insisted  upon  spending  in  the  old  home 
at  Clayton,  where  Carter  kept  his  dogs  and 
horses  and  spent  his  summers.  Hitherto 
Mrs.  Nelson  had  compromised  with  her.  By 

177 


Sandy 

adroit  management  she  contrived  to  keep 
her,  for  weeks  at  a  time,  at  various  summer 
resorts,  where  she  expected  her  to  serve  a 
sort  of  social  apprenticeship  which  would 
fit  her  for  her  future  career. 

At  nineteen  Euth  developed  alarming 
symptoms  of  obstinacy.  Mrs.  Nelson  con 
fessed  tearfully  to  the  rest  of  the  family  that 
it  had  existed  in  embryo  for  years.  Instead 
of  making  the  most  of  her  first  summer  out 
of  school,  the  foolish  girl  announced  her  in 
tention  of  going  to  Willowvale  for  an  in 
definite  stay. 

It  was  indignation  at  this  state  of  affairs 
that  caused  Mrs.  Nelson  to  lose  her  appe 
tite.  Clayton  was  to  her  the  limit  of  civili 
zation;  there  was  too  much  sunshine,  too 
much  fresh  air,  too  much  out  of  doors.  She 
disliked  nature  in  its  crude  state;  she  pre 
ferred  it  softened  and  toned  down  to  draw 
ing-room  pitch. 

She  glanced  up  in  disapproval  as  Ruth's 
laugh  sounded  in  the  hall. 

178 


The  Nelson  Home 

"Rachel,  tell  her  that  lunch  is  waiting," 
she  said  to  the  colored  girl  at  her  side. 

Carter  looked  up  as  Ruth  came  breezily 
into  the  room.  She  wore  her  riding-habit, 
and  her  hair  was  tossed  by  her  brisk  morn 
ing  canter. 

"You  don't  look  as  if  you  had  danced  all 
night, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Did  the  mare  behave  her 
self  1" 

"She  's  a  perfect  beauty,  Carter.  I  rode 
her  round  the  old  mill-dam,  'cross  the  ford, 
and  back  by  the  Hollises'.  Now  I  'm  per 
fectly  famished.  Some  hot  rolls,  Rachel, 
and  another  croquette,  and— and  every 
thing  you  have. ' ' 

Mrs.  Nelson  picked  several  crumbs  from 
the  cloth  and  laid  them  carefully  on  her 
plate.  ' '  When  I  was  a  young  lady  I  always 
slept  after  being  out  in  the  evening.  I  had 
a  half -cup  of  coffee  and  one  roll  brought  to 
me  in  bed,  and  I  never  rose  until  noon." 

"But  I  hate  to  stay  in  bed,"  said  Ruth; 
"and,  besides,  I  hate  to  miss  a  half-day." 

179 


Sandy 

"Is  there  anything  on  for  this  after 
noon!"  asked  Carter. 

"Why,  yes—  "  Ruth  began,  but  her  aunt 
finished  for  her : 

"Now,  Carter,  it  's  too  warm  to  be 
proposing  anything  more.  You  are  n't 
well,  and  Ruth  ought  to  stay  at  home  and 
put  cold  cream  on  her  face.  It  is  getting 
so  burned  that  her  pink  evening-dresses 
will  be  worse  than  useless.  Besides,  there 
is  absolutely  nothing  to  do  in  this  stupid 
place.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  n't  stand  it  all 
summer. ' ' 

This  being  a  familiar  opening  to  a  dis 
agreeable  subject,  the  two  young  people 
lapsed  into  silence,  and  Mrs.  Nelson  was  con 
strained  to  address  her  communications  to 
the  tea-pot.  She  glanced  about  the  big,  old- 
fashioned  room  and  sighed. 

"It  's  nothing  short  of  criminal  to  keep 
all  this  old  mahogany  buried  here  in  the 
country,  and  the  cut-glass  and  silver.  And 
to  think  that  the  house  cannot  be  sold  for 
two  more  years !  Not  until  Ruth  is  of  age ! 

180 


The  Nelson  Home 

What  do  you  suppose  your  dear  grand 
father  could  have  been  thinking  of?" 

This  question,  eliciting  no  reply  from 
the  tea-pot,  remained  suspended  in  the 
air  until  it  attracted  Ruth's  wandering  at 
tention. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  aunt.  What  grand 
father  was  thinking  off  About  the  place! 
Why,  I  guess  he  hoped  that  Carter  and  I 
would  keep  it." 

Carter  looked  over  his  paper.  ' '  Keep  this 
old  cemetery  ?  Not  I !  The  day  it  is  sold  I 
start  for  Europe.  If  one  lung  is  gone  and 
the  other  going,  I  intend  to  enjoy  myself 
while  it  goes. ' ' 

"Carter!"  begged  Ruth,  appealingly. 

He  laughed.  "You  ought  to  be  glad  to 
get  rid  of  me,  Ruth.  You  've  bothered  your 
head  about  me  ever  since  you  were  born. ' ' 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his  as  it  lay  on 
the  table,  and  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"The  idea  of  the  old  governor  thinking 
we  'd  want  to  stay  here ! "  he  said,  with  a  curl 
of  the  lip. 

181 


Sandy 

i  *  Perfectly  ridiculous ! ' '  echoed  Mrs.  Nel 
son. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ruth;  "it  's  more 
like  home  than  any  place  else.  I  don't  think 
I  could  ever  bear  to  sell  it." 

' i  Now,  my  dear  Ruth, ' '  said  Mrs.  Nelson, 
in  genuine  alarm,  "don't  be  sentimental,  I 
beg  of  you.  When  once  you  make  your  debut, 
you  '11  feel  very  different  about  things.  Of 
course  the  place  must  be  sold:  it  can't  be 
rented,  and  I  'm  sure  you  will  never  get  me 
to  spend  another  summer  in  Clayton.  You 
could  not  stay  here  alone. ' ' 

Ruth  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hands  and 
gazed  absently  out  of  the  window.  She  re 
membered  when  that  yard  was  to  her  as  the 
garden  of  Eden.  As  a  child  she  had  been 
brought  here,  a  delicate,  faded  little  hot 
house  plant,  and  for  three  wonderful  years 
had  been  allowed  to  grow  and  blossom  at 
will  in  the  freedom  of  outdoor  life.  The 
glamour  of  those  old  days  still  clung  to  the 
place,  and  made  her  love  everything  con 
nected  with  it.  The  front  gate,  with  its  wide 

182 


The  Nelson  Home 

white  posts,  still  held  the  records  of  her 
growth,  for  each  year  her  grandfather  had 
stood  her  against  it  and  marked  her  prog 
ress.  The  huge  green  tub  holding  the  crape- 
myrtle  was  once  a  park  where  she  and  An 
nette  had  played  dolls,  and  once  it  had 
served  as  a  burying-ground  when  Carter 's 
sling  brought  down  a  sparrow.  The  ice 
house,  with  its  steep  roof,  recalled  a  thrilling 
tobogganing  experience  when  she  was  six. 
Grandfather  had  laughed  over  the  torn 
gown,  and  bade  her  do  it  again. 

It  was  the  trees,  though,  that  she  loved 
best  of  all ;  for  they  were  friendly  old  pop 
lar-trees  on  which  the  bark  formed  itself  into 
all  sorts  of  curious  eyes.  One  was  a  wicked 
old  stepfather  eye  with  a  heavy  lid;  she  re 
membered  how  she  used  to  tiptoe  past  it 
and  pretend  to  be  afraid.  Beyond,  by  the 
arbor,  were  two  smaller  trees,  where  a  co 
quettish  eye  on  one  looked  up  to  an  adoring 
eye  on  the  other.  She  had  often  built  a  ro 
mance  about  them  as  she  watched  them  peep 
ing  at  each  other  through  the  leaves. 

183 


Sandy 

Down  behind  the  house  the  waving  fields 
of  blue-grass  rippled  away  to  the  little  river, 
where  weeping  willows  hung  their  heads 
above  the  lazy  water,  and  ferns  reached  up 
the  banks  to  catch  the  flowers.  And  the 
fields  and  the  river  and  the  house  and  the 
trees  were  hers,— hers  and  Carter 's,— and 
neither  could  sell  without  the  consent  of 
the  other.  She  took  a  deep  breath  of  satis 
faction.  The  prospect  of  living  alone  in  the 
old  homestead  failed  to  appal  her. 

"A  letter  came  this  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Nelson,  tracing  the  crest  on  the  silver 
creamer.  "It  's  from  your  Aunt  Elizabeth. 
She  wants  us  to  spend  ten  days  with  her  at 
the  shore.  They  have  taken  a  handsome  cot 
tage  next  to  the  Warrentons.  You  remem 
ber  young  Mr.  Warrenton,  Ruth?  He  is  a 
grandson  of  Commodore  Warrenton." 

"Warrenton!  Oh,  yes,  I  do  remember 
him— the  one  that  did  n't  have  any  neck." 

Mrs.  Nelson  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment, 
as  if  praying  for  patience;  then  she  went 
on:  "Your  Aunt  Elizabeth  thinks,  as  I  do, 

184 


The  Nelson  Home 

that  it  is  absurd  for  you  to  bury  yourself 
down  here.  She  wants  you  to  meet  people 
of  your  own  class.  Do  you  think  you  can  be 
ready  to  start  on  Wednesday ! ' ' 

<  <  Why,  we  have  been  here  only  a  week ! ' ' 
cried  Ruth.  ' '  I  am  having  such  a  good  time, 
and—  "  she  broke  off  impulsively.  "But  I 
know  it  's  dull  for  you,  Aunt  Clara.  You 
go,  and  leave  me  here  with  Carter.  I  '11  do 
everything  you  say  if  you  will  only  let  me 
stay. ' ' 

Carter  laughed.  "One  would  think  that 
Ruth's  sole  aim  in  life  was  to  cultivate  Clay 
ton—the  distinguished,  exclusive,  aristo 
cratic  society  of  Clayton." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  looked 
at  him  pleadingly:  "Please  don't  laugh  at 
me,  Carter!  I  love  it  here,  and  I  want  to 
stay.  You  know  Aunt  Elizabeth ;  you  know 
what  her  friends  are  like.  They  think  I 
am  queer.  I  can't  be  happy  where  they 
are." 

Mrs.  Nelson  resorted  to  her  smelling- 
bottle.  "Of  course  my  opinions  are  of  no 

185 


Sandy 

weight.  I  only  wish  to  remind  you  that  it 
would  be  most  impolitic  to  offend  your  Aunt 
Elizabeth.  She  could  introduce  you  into  the 
most  desirable  set;  and  even  if  she  is  a  lit 
tle—  "  she  searched  a  moment  for  a  word— 
"a  little  liberal  in  her  views,  one  can  over 
look  that  on  account  of  her  generosity.  She 
is  a  very  influential  woman,  Ruth,  and  a  very 
wealthy  one." 

Euth  made  a  quick,  impatient  gesture.  1 1 1 
don't  like  her,  Aunt  Clara ;  and  I  don't  want 
you  to  ask  me  to  go  there. " 

Mrs.  Nelson  folded  her  napkin  with  tragic 
deliberation.  "Very  well,"  she  said;  "it  is 
not  my  place  to  urge  it.  I  can  only  point 
out  your  duty  and  leave  the  rest  to  you.  One 
thing  I  must  speak  about,  and  that  is  your 
associating  so  familiarly  with  these  towns 
people.  They  are  impertinent;  they  take 
advantages,  and  forget  who  we  are.  Why, 
the  blacksmith  had  the  audacity  to  refer  to 
the  dear  major  as  'Bob.'  " 

"Old  Uncle  Dan!"  asked  Ruth,  laughing. 
"I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  he  shook  hands 

186 


The  Nelson  Home 

with  me  and  said :  *  Golly,  sissy,  how  you  've 
growed!'  " 

"Ruth,"  cried  Mrs.  Nelson,  "how  can 
you!  Have  n't  you  any  family  pride? " 
The  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  for  the  invita 
tion  to  visit  the  Hunter-Nelsons  was  one  for 
which  she  had  angled  skilfully,  and  its  sum 
mary  dismissal  was  a  sore  trial  to  her. 

In  a  moment  Ruth  was  at  her  side,  all  con 
trition:  "I  'm  sorry,  Aunt  Clara;  I  know 
I  'm  a  disappointment  to  you.  I  '11  try—" 

Mrs.  Nelson  withdrew  her  hand  and  di 
rected  her  injured  reply  to  Carter.  "I  have 
done  my  duty  by  your  sister.  She  has  been 
given  every  advantage  a  young  lady  could 
desire.  If  she  insists  upon  throwing  away 
her  opportunities,  I  can 't  help  it.  I  suppose 
I  am  no  longer  to  be  consulted— no  longer  to 
be  considered."  She  sought  the  seclusion 
of  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  her  pompa 
dour  swayed  with  emotion. 

Ruth  stood  at  the  table,  miserably  pulling 
a  rose  to  pieces.  This  discussion  was  an  old 
one,  but  it  lost  none  of  its  sting  by  repetition. 

12  187 


Sandy 

Was  she  queer  and  obstinate  and  unreason 
able? 

"Ruth  's  all  right,"  said  Carter,  seeing 
her  discomfort.  ' i  She  will  have  more  sense 
when  she  is  older.  She  's  just  got  her  little 
head  turned  by  all  the  attention  she  has  had 
since  coming  home.  There  is  n't  a  boy  in 
the  county  who  would  n't  make  love  to  her 
at  the  drop  of  her  eyelash.  She  was  the  belle 
of  the  hop  last  night ;  had  the  boys  about  her 
three  deep  most  of  the  time. ' ' 

"The  hop!"  Mrs.  Nelson  so  far  forgot 
herself  as  to  uncover  one  eye.  ' '  Don 't  speak 
of  that  wretched  affair!  The  idea  of  her 
going!  What  do  you  suppose  your  Aunt 
Elizabeth  would  say?  A  country  dance  in 
a  public  hall ! ' ' 

"I  only  dropped  in  for  the  last  few 
dances,"  said  Carter,  pouring  himself  an 
other  glass  of  wine.  "It  was  beastly  hot 
and  stupid." 

"I  danced  every  minute  the  music 
played,"  cried  Ruth;  "and  when  they 
played,  'Home,  Sweet  Home,'  I  could 

188 


The  Nelson  Home 

have  begun  and  gone  right  through  it 
again. ' ' 

"By  the  way,"  said  her  brother,  "did  n't 
I  see  you  dancing  with  that  Kilday  boy?" 

'  <  The  last  dance, ' '  said  Euth.    ' <  Why  I  ' ' 

"Oh,  I  was  a  little  surprised,  that  's 
all." 

Mrs.  Nelson,  scenting  the  suggestion  in 
Carter's  voice,  was  instantly  alert. 

"Who,  pray,  is  Kilday!" 

"Oh,  Kilday  is  n't  anybody;  that  's  the 
trouble.  If  he  had  been,  he  would  never 
have  stayed  with  that  old  crank  Judge  Hol- 
lis.  The  judge  thinks  he  is  appointed  by 
Providence  to  control  this  bright  particular 
burg.  He  is  even  attempting  to  regulate  me 
of  late.  The  next  time  he  interferes  he  '11 
hear  from  me. ' ' 

"But  Kilday?"  urged  Mrs.  Nelson,  fee 
bly  persistent. 

"Oh,  Kilday  is  good  enough  in  his  place. 
He  's  a  first-class  athlete,  and  has  made  a 
record  up  at  the  academy.  But  he  was  a 
peddler,  you  know— an  Irish  peddler;  came 

189 


Sandy 

here  three  or  four  years  ago  with  a  pack  on 
his  back." 

"And  Ruth  danced  with  him!"  Mrs.  Nel 
son  's  words  were  punctuated  with  horror. 

Ruth  looked  up  with  blazing  eyes.  "Yes, 
I  danced  with  him ;  why  should  n  't  1 1  You 
made  me  dance  with  Mr.  Warrenton,  last 
summer,  when  I  told  you  he  was  drinking." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  you  forget  who  Mr. 
Warrenton  is.  And  you  actually  danced 
with  a  peddler!"  Her  voice  grew  faint. 
"My  dear,  this  must  never  occur  again. 
You  are  young  and  easily  imposed  upon.  I 
will  accompany  you  everywhere  in  the  fu 
ture.  Of  course  you  need  never  recognize 
him  hereafter.  The  impertinence  of  his  ad 
dressing  you !" 

A  step  sounded  on  the  gravel  outside. 
Ruth  ran  to  the  window  and  spoke  to  some 
one  below.  "I  '11  be  there  as  soon  as  I 
change  my  habit, ' '  she  called. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  her  aunt,  hastily  ar 
ranging  her  disturbed  locks. 

Ruth  paused  at  the  door.     There  was  a 

190 


The  Nelson  Home 

slight  tremor  about  her  lips,  but  her  eyes 
flashed  their  first  open  declaration  of  in 
dependence. 

"It  's  Mr.  Kilday,"  she  said;  "we  are 
going  out  on  the  river. ' ' 

There  was  an  oppressive  silence  of  ten 
minutes  after  she  left,  during  which  Carter 
smiled  behind  his  paper  and  Mrs.  Nelson 
gazed  indignantly  at  the  tea-pot.  Then  she 
tapped  the  bell. 

"Rachel,"  she  said  impressively,  "go  to 
Miss  Ruth's  room  and  get  her  veil  and 
gloves  and  sun-shade.  Have  Thomas  take 
them  to  the  boat-house  at  once. ' ' 


191 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UNDER   THE   WILLOWS 

E  T  WE  E  N  willow-fringed 
banks  of  softest  green,  and 
under  the  bluest  of  summer 
skies,  the  little  river  took  its 
lazy  Southern  way.  Tall 
blue  lobelias  and  golden  flags  played  hide- 
and-seek  in  the  reflections  of  the  gentle 
stream,  and  an  occasional  spray  of  golden- 
rod,  advance-guard  of  the  autumn,  stood 
apart,  a  silent  warning  to  the  summer  idlers. 
Somewhere  overhead  a  vireo,  dainty  poet 
of  bird-land,  proclaimed  his  love  to  the  wide 
world ;  while  below,  another  child  of  nature, 
no  less  impassioned,  no  less  aching  to  give 
vent  to  the  joy  that  was  bursting  his  being, 
sat  silent  in  a  canoe  that  swung  softly  with 
the  pulsing  of  the  stream. 

192 


Under  the  Willows 

For  Sandy  had  followed  the  highroad  that 
led  straight  into  the  Land  of  Enchantment. 
No  more  wanderings  by  intricate  byways  up 
golden  hills  to  golden  castles ;  the  Love  Eoad 
had  led  him  at  last  to  the  real  world  of  the 
King  Arthur  days— the  world  that  was 
lighted  by  a  strange  and  wondrous  light  of 
romance,  wherein  he  dwelt,  a  knight,  waiting 
and  longing  to  prove  his  valor  in  the  eyes 
of  his  lady  fair. 

Burning  deeds  of  prowess  rioted  in  his 
brain.  Oh  for  dungeons  and  towers  and 
forbidding  battlements !  Any  danger  was 
welcome  from  which  he  might  rescue  her. 
Fire,  flood,  or  bandits— he  would  brave  them 
all.  Meanwhile  he  sat  in  the  prow  of  the 
boat,  his  hands  clasped  about  his  knees,  ut 
terly  powerless  to  break  the  spell  of  awk 
ward  silence  that  seemed  to  possess  him. 

They  had  paddled  in  under  the  willows 
to  avoid  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  had  tied 
their  boat  to  an  overhanging  bough. 

Ruth,  with  her  sleeve  turned  back  to  the 
elbow,  was  trailing  her  hand  in  the  cool 

193 


Sandy 

water  and  watching  the  little  circles  that  fol 
lowed  her  fingers.  Her  hat  was  off,  and  her 
hair,  where  the  sun  fell  on  it  through  the 
leaves,  was  almost  the  color  of  her  eyes. 

But  what  was  the  real  color  of  her  eyes? 
Sandy  brought  all  his  intellect  to  bear  upon 
the  momentous  question.  Sometimes,  he 
thought,  they  were  as  dark  as  the  velvet 
shadows  in  the  heart  of  the  stream;  some 
times  they  were  lighted  by  tiny  flames  of 
gold  that  sparkled  in  the  brown  depths  as 
the  sunshine  sparkled  in  the  shadows.  They 
were  deep  as  his  love  and  bright  as  his  hope. 

Suddenly  he  realized  that  she  had  asked 
him  a  question. 

"It  's  never  a  word  I  Ve  heard  of  what 
ye  are  saying !"  he  exclaimed  contritely. 
'  i  My  mind  was  on  your  eyes,  and  the  brown 
of  them.  Do  they  keep  changing  color  like 
that  all  the  time?" 

Ruth,  thus  earnestly  appealed  to,  blushed 
furiously. 

"I  was  talking  about  the  river,"  she  said 
quickly.  "It  's  jolly  under  here,  is  n't  it? 

194 


Under  the  Willows 

So  cool  and  green!  I  was  awfully  cross 
when  I  came." 

"You  cross  1" 

She  nodded  her  head.  "And  ungrateful, 
and  perverse,  and  queer,  and  totally  unlike 
my  father's  family. "  She  counted  off  her 
shortcomings  on  her  fingers,  and  raised 
her  brows  in  comical  imitation  of  her  aunt. 

"A  left-hand  blessing  on  the  one  that  said 
so!"  cried  Sandy,  with  such  ardor  that  she 
fled  to  another  subject. 

"I  saw  Martha  Meech  yesterday.  She 
was  talking  about  you.  She  was  very  weak, 
and  could  speak  only  in  a  whisper,  but  she 
seemed  happy." 

"It  's  like  her  soul  was  in  Heaven  al 
ready,"  said  Sandy. 

"I  took  her  a  little  picture,"  went  on 
Ruth;  "she  loves  them  so.  It  was  a  copy 
of  one  of  Turner's." 

"Turner?"  repeated  Sandy.  "Joseph 
Mallord  William  Turner,  born  in  London, 
1775.  Member  of  the  Royal  Academy. 
Died  in  1851." 

197 


Sandy 

She  looked  so  amazed  at  this  burst  of 
information  that  he  iaughed. 

"It  's  out  of  the  catalogue.  I  learned 
what  it  said  about  the  ones  I  liked  best  years 
ago." 

"Where!" 

"At  the  Olympian  Exposition. " 

"I  was  there, "  said  Ruth;  "it  was  the 
summer  we  came  home  from  Europe.  Per 
haps  that  was  where  I  saw  you.  I  know  I 
saw  you  somewhere  before  you  came  here." 

' '  Perhaps, ' '  said  Sandy,  skipping  a  bit  of 
bark  across  the  water. 

A  band  of  yellow  butterflies  on  wide 
wings  circled  about  them,  and  one,  mistak 
ing  Ruth's  rosy  wet  fingers  for  a  flower,  set 
tled  there  for  a  long  rest. 

"Look!"  she  whispered;  "see  how  long 
it  stays!" 

"It  's  not  meself  would  be  blaming  it  for 
forgetting  to  go  away,"  said  Sandy. 

They  both  laughed,  then  Ruth  leaned  over 
the  boat's  side  and  pretended  to  be  absorbed 
in  her  reflection  in  the  water.  Sandy  had 

198 


Under  the  Willows 

not  learned  that  unveiled  glances  are  im 
proper,  and  if  his  lips  refrained  from  echo 
ing  the  vireo  's  song,  his  eyes  were  less  dis 
creet. 

"You  Ve  got  a  dimple  in  your  elbow!" 
he  cried,  with  the  air  of  one  discovering  a 
continent. 

"I  have  n't,"  declared  she,  but  the  dim 
ple  turned  State's  evidence. 

The  sun  had  gone  under  a  cloud  as 
the  afternoon  shadows  began  to  lengthen, 
and  a  light  tenderer  than  sunlight  and 
warmer  than  moonlight  fell  across  the  river. 
The  water  slipped  over  the  stones  behind 
them  with  a  pleasant  swish  and  swirl, 
and  the  mint  that  was  crushed  by  the 
prow  of  their  boat  gave  forth  an  aromatic 
perfume. 

Ever  afterward  the  first  faint  odor  of 
mint  made  Sandy  close  his  eyes  in  a  quick 
desire  to  retain  the  memory  it  recalled,  to 
bring  back  the  dawn  of  love,  the  first  faint 
flush  of  consciousness  in  the  girlish  cheeks 
and  the  soft  red  lips,  and  the  quick,  uncer- 

199 


Sandy 

tain  breath  as  her  heart  tried  not  to  catch 
beat  with  his  own. 

" Can't  you  sing  something  1"  she  asked 
presently.  "Annette  Fenton  says  you  know 
all  sorts  of  quaint  old  songs. " 

"They  're  just  the  bits  I  remember  of 
what  me  mother  used  to  sing  me  in  the  old 
country. ' ' 

"Sing  the  one  you  like  best,"  demanded 
Ruth. 

Softly,  with  the  murmur  of  the  river  ac 
companying  the  song,  he  began: 

"Ah !  The  moment  was  sad  when  my  love  and  I 

parted, 

Savourneen  deelish,  signan  O  ! 
As  I  kiss'd  off  her  tears,  I  was  nigh  broken 
hearted  !  — 
Savourneen  deelish,  signan  O  !  " 

Ruth  took  her  hand  out  of  the  water  and 
looked  at  him  with  puzzled  eyes.  "Where 
have  I  heard  it?  On  a  boat  somewhere,  and 
the  moon  was  shining.  I  remember  the  re 
frain  perfectly." 

Sandy  remembered,  too.    In  a  moment  he 

200 


Under  the  Willows 

felt  himself  an  impostor  and  a  cheat.  He 
had  stumbled  into  the  Enchanted  Land,  but 
he  had  no  right  to  be  there.  He  buried  his 
head  in  his  hands  and  felt  the  dream-world 
tottering  about  him. 

"Are  you  trying  to  remember  the  second 
verse  ?"  asked  Ruth. 

"No,"  said  he,  his  head  still  bowed; 
"  I  'm  trying  to  help  you  remember  the  first 
one.  Was  it  the  boat  ye  came  over  from 
Europe  in?" 

"That  was  it!"  she  cried.  "It  was  on 
shipboard.  I  was  standing  by  the  railing 
one  night  and  heard  some  one  singing  it  in 
the  steerage.  I  was  just  a  little  girl,  but 
I  Ve  never  forgotten  that  'Savourneen  dee- 
lish, '  nor  the  way  he  sang  it. ' ' 

"Was  it  a  man?"  asked  Sandy,  huskily. 

"No,"  she  said,  half  frowning  in  her  ef 
fort  to  remember;  "it  was  a  boy— a  stow 
away,  I  think.  They  said  he  had  tried  to 
steal  his  way  in  a  life-boat. ' ' 

' i  He  had ! ' '  cried  Sandy,  raising  his  head 
and  leaning  toward  her.  "He  stole  on 
201 


Sandy 

board  with  only  a  few  shillings  and  a  bundle 
of  clothes.  He  sneaked  his  way  up  to  a  life 
boat  and  hid  there  like  a  thief.  When  they 
found  him  and  punished  him  as  he  deserved, 
there  was  a  little  lady  looked  down  at  him 
and  was  sorry,  and  he  ?s  traveled  over  all 
the  years  from  then  to  now  to  thank  her 
for  it.77 

Ruth  drew  back  in  amazement,  and 
Sandy's  courage  failed  for  a  moment.  Then 
his  face  hardened  and  he  plunged  recklessly 
on: 

1  'I  Ve  blacked  boots,  and  sold  papers; 
I  Ve  fought  dogs,  and  peddled,  and  worked 
on  the  railroad.  Many  's  the  time  I  Ve 
been  glad  to  eat  the  scraps  the  workmen 
left  on  the  track.  And  just  because  a  kind, 
good  man— God  prosper  his  soul!— saw  fit 
to  give  me  a  home  and  an  education,  I 
turned  a  fool  and  dared  to  think  I  was  a 
gentleman ! ' ' 

For  a  moment  pride  held  Ruth's  pity 
back.  Every  tradition  of  her  family  threw 

202 


Under  the  Willows 

up  a  barrier  between  herself  and  this  son  of 
the  soil. 

"Why  did  you  come  to  Kentucky?"  she 
asked. 

"Why?"  cried  Sandy,  too  miserable  to 
hold  anything  back.  "Because  I  saw  the 
name  of  the  place  on  your  bag  at  the  pier. 
I  came  here  for  the  chance  of  seeing  you 
again,  of  knowing  for  sure  there  was  some 
thing  good  and  beautiful  in  the  world  to  off 
set  all  the  bad  I  'd  seen.  Every  page  I  Ve 
learned  has  been  for  you,  every  wrong 
thought  I  Ve  put  out  of  me  mind  has  been 
to  make  more  room  for  you.  I  don't  even 
ask  ye  to  be  my  friend;  I  only  ask  to  be 
yours,  to  see  ye  sometime,  to  talk  to  you, 
and  to  keep  ye  first  in  my  heart  and  to 
serve  ye  to  the  end." 

The  vireo  had  stopped  singing  and  was 
swinging  on  a  bough  above  them. 

Ruth  sat  very  still  and  looked  straight 
before  her.  She  had  never  seen  a  soul  laid 
bare  before,  and  the  sight  thrilled  and 

203 


Sandy 

troubled  her.  All  the  petty  artifices  which 
the  world  had  taught  her  seemed  useless 
before  this  shining  candor. 

1 '  And— and  you  Ve  remembered  me  all 
this  time?"  she  asked,  with  a  little  tremble 
in  her  voice.  '  *  I  did  not  know  people  cared 
like  that. " 

"And  you  're  not  sorry ?"  persisted 
Sandy.  "You  '11  let  me  be  your  friend? " 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  an  earnest 
ness  as  deep  as  his  own.  In  an  instant  he 
had  caught  it  to  his  lips.  All  the  bloom  of 
the  summer  rushed  to  her  cheeks,  and  she 
drew  quickly  away. 

"Oh!  but  I  '11  take  it  back-I  never 
meant  it,"  cried  Sandy,  wild  with  remorse. 
"Me  heart  crossed  the  line  ahead  of  me 
head,  that  was  all.  You  've  given  me  your 
friendship,  and  may  the  sorrow  seize  me  if 
I  ever  ask  for  more!" 

At  this  the  vireo  burst  into  such  mock 
ing,  derisive  laughter  of  song  that  they  both 
looked  up  and  smiled. 

"He  does  n't  think  you  mean  it,"  said 

204 


Under  the  Willows 

Buth;  "but  you  must  mean  it,  else  I  can't 
ever  be  your  friend.77 

Sandy  shook  his  fist  at  the  bird. 

"You  spalpeen,  you!  If  I  had  ye  down 
here  I  'd  throw  ye  out  of  the  tree!  But 
you  must  n't  believe  him.  I  '11  stick  to  my 
word  as  the  wind  to  the  tree-tops.  No— 
I  don't  mean  that.  As  the  stream  to  the 
shore.  No—" 

He  stopped  and  laughed.  All  figures  of 
speech  conspired  to  make  him  break  his 
word. 

Somewhere  from  out  the  forgotten  world 
came  six  long,  lingering  strokes  of  a  bell. 
Sandy  and  Buth  untied  the  canoe  and  pad 
dled  out  into  midstream,  leaving  the  willow 
bower  full  of  memories  and  the  vireo  still 
hopping  about  among  the  branches. 

"I  '11  paddle  you  up  to  the  bridge,"  said 
Buth;  "then  you  will  be  near  the  post- 
office." 

Sandy's  voice  was  breaking  to  say  that 
she  could  paddle  him  up  to  the  moon  if  she 
would  only  stay  there  between  him  and  the 

13  205 


Sandy 

sun,  with  her  hair  forming  a  halo  about  her 
face.  But  they  were  going  down-stream, 
and  all  too  soon  he  was  stepping  out  of  the 
canoe  to  earth  again. 

"And  will  I  have  to  be  waiting  till  the 
morrow  to  see  you?"  he  asked,  with  his 
hand  on  the  boat. 

"To-morrow?    Not  until  Sunday." 

"But  Sunday  is  a  month  off!  You  '11  be 
coming  for  the  mail?" 

"We  send  for  the  mail,"  said  Ruth,  de 
murely. 

' '  Then  ye  '11  be  sending  in  vain  for  yours. 
I  '11  hold  it  back  till  ye  come  yourself,  if  I 
lose  my  position  for  it." 

Ruth  put  three  feet  of  water  between 
them,  then  she  looked  up  with  mischief  in 
her  eyes.  "I  don't  want  you  to  lose  your 
position,"  s*ne  said. 

"Then  you  '11  come?" 

"Perhaps." 

Sandy  watched  her  paddle  away  straight 
into  the  heart  of  the  sun.  He  climbed  the 
bank  and  waved  her  out  of  sight.  He  had 

206 


Under  the  Willows 

to  use  a  maple  branch,  for  his  hat  and  hand 
kerchief,  not  to  mention  less  material  pos 
sessions,  were  floating  down-stream  in  the 
boat  with  Ruth. 

"Hello,  Kilday!"  called  Dr.  Fenton  from 
the  road  above.  "  Going  up-town?  I  '11 
give  you  a  lift." 

Sandy  turned  and  looked  up  at  the  doctor 
impatiently.  The  presence  of  other  people 
in  the  world  seemed  an  intrusion. 

"I  Ve  been  out  to  the  Meeches'  all  after 
noon,  ' '  said  the  doctor,  wearily,  mopping  his 
face  with  a  red-bordered  handkerchief. 

"Is  Martha  worse?"  asked  Sandy,  in 
quick  alarm. 

"No,  she  's  better,"  said  the  doctor, 
gruffly;  "she  died  at  four  o'clock." 


207 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  VICTIM 


OME  poet  has  described  love 
as  a  little  glow  and  a  little 
shiver;  to  Sandy  it  was 
more  like  a  ravaging  fire  in 
his  heart,  which  lighted  up 
a  world  of  such  unutterable  bliss  that  he 
cheerfully  added  fresh  fuel  to  the  flames 
that  were  consuming  him.  The  one  absorb 
ing  necessity  of  his  existence  was  to  see 
Ruth  daily,  and  the  amount  of  strategy, 
forethought,  and  subtilty  with  which  he  ac 
complished  it  argued  well  for  his  future 
ability  at  the  bar. 

In  the  long  hours  of  the  night  Wisdom 
urged  prudence;  she  presented  all  the  facts 
in  the  case,  and  convinced  him  of  his  folly. 
But  with  the  dawn  he  threw  discretion  to 

208 


The  Victim 


the  winds,  and  rushed  valiantly  forward, 
leading  a  forlorn  hope  under  cover  of  a 
little  Platonic  flag  of  truce. 

With  all  the  fervor  and  intensity  of  his 
nature  he  tried  to  fit  himself  to  Ruth's 
standards.  Every  unconscious  suggestion 
that  she  let  fall,  through  word,  or  gesture, 
or  expression,  he  took  to  heart  and  prof 
ited  by.  With  almost  passionate  earnest 
ness  he  sought  to  be  worthy  of  her.  Fight 
ing,  climbing,  struggling  upward,  he  closed 
his  eyes  to  the  awful  depth  to  which  he 
would  fall  if  his  quest  were  vain. 

Meanwhile  his  cheeks  became  hollow  and 
he  lost  his  appetite.  The  judge  attributed 
it  to  Martha  Meech's  death;  for  Sandy's 
genuine  grief  and  his  continued  kindness 
to  the  bereft  neighbors  confirmed  an  old 
suspicion.  Mrs.  Hollis  thought  it  was  ma 
laria,  and  dosed  him  accordingly.  It  was 
Aunt  Melvy  who  made  note  of  his  symptoms 
and  diagnosed  his  case  correctly. 

"He  's  sparkin'  some  gal,  Miss  Sue; 
dat  's  what  ails  him,"  she  said  one  evening 

209 


Sandy 

as  she  knelt  on  the  sitting-room  hearth  to 
kindle  the  first  fire  of  the  season.  "Dey 
ain't  but  two  t'ings  onder  heaben  dat  '11 
keep  a  man  f 'om  eatin'.  One  's  a  woman, 
t'  other  is  lack  ob  food." 

Judge  Hollis  looked  over  his  glasses  and 
smiled. 

"Who  do  you  think  the  lady  is,  Melvy  f " 
Aunt  Melvy  wagged  her  head  knowingly 
as  she  held  a  paper  across  the  fireplace  to 
start  the  blaze. 

"I   ain't   gwine   tell   no   tales   on   Mist' 
Sandy.    But  yer  can't  fool  dis  heah  ole  nig 
ger.     I  mind  de  signs;  I  knows  mo'  'bout 
de  young  folks  in  dis  heah  town  den  dey 
t'ink  I  do.    Fust  t'ing  you  know,  I  'm  gwine 
tell  on  some  ob  'em,  too.    I  'spect  de  doctor 
would  put'  near  die  ef  he  knowed  dat  Miss 
Annette  was  a-havin'  incandescent  meetin's 
wif  Carter  Nelson  'most  ever'  day." 
"Is  Sandy  after  Annette,  too?" 
"No,  sonny,  no!"  said  Aunt  Melvy,  to 
whom  all  men  were  "sonny"  until  they  died 
of  old  age.    "Mist'  Sandy  he  's  aimin'  at 
210 


The  Victim 


high  game.  He  's  fix'  his  eyeball  on  de 
shore-  'nough  quality. ' ' 

"Do  you  mean  Ruth  Nelson?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hollis,  snapping  her  scissors  sharply.  "He 
surely  would  n't  be  fool  enough  to  think  she 
would  look  at  him.  Why,  the  Nelsons  think 
they  are  the  only  aristocratic  people  that 
ever  lived  in  Clayton.  If  they  had  paid  less 
attention  to  their  ancestors  and  more  to 
their  descendants,  they  might  have  had  a 
better  showing." 

"I  nebber  said  it  was  Miss  Rufe,"  said 
Aunt  Melvy  from  the  doorway;  "but  den 
ag'in  I  don't  say  hit  ain't." 

"Well,  I  hope  it  's  not,"  said  the  judge 
to  his  wife  as  he  laid  down  his  paper; 
"though  I  must  say  she  is  as  pretty  and 
friendly  a  girl  as  I  ever  saw.  No  matter 
how  long  she  stays  away,  she  is  always  glad 
to  see  everybody  when  she  comes  back. 
Some  of  old  Evan's  geniality  must  have 
come  down  to  her. ' ' 

"Geniality!"  cried  Mrs.  Hollis.  "It  was 
mint-juleps  and  brandy  and  soda.  He  was 
211 


Sandy 

just  as  snobbish  as  the  rest  of  them  when 
he  was  sober.  If  she  has  any  good  in 
her,  it  's  from  her  mother's  side  of  the 
house. " 

"I  hope  Sandy  is  n't  interested  there," 
went  on  the  judge,  thoughtfully.  ' '  It  would 
not  do  him  any  good,  and  would  spoil  his 
taste  for  what  he  could  get.  How  long  has 
it  been  going  on,  Sue?" 

"He  's  been  acting  foolish  for  a  month, 
but  it  gets  worse  all  the  time.  He  moons 
around  the  house,  with  his  head  in  the 
clouds,  and  sits  up  half  the  night  hanging 
out  of  his  window.  He  has  raked  out  all 
those  silly  old  poetry-books  of  yours,  and 
I  find  them  strewn  all  over  the  house. 
Here  's  one  now ;  look  at  those  pencil-marks 
all  round  the  margin ! ' ' 

"Some  of  the  marks  were  there  before," 
said  the  judge,  as  he  read  the  title. 

"Then  there  are  more  fools  than  one  in 
the  world.  Here  is  where  he  has  turned 
down  a  leaf.  Now  just  read  that  bosh  and 
nonsense!" 

212 


The  Victim 


The  judge  took  the  book  from  her  hand 
and  read  with  a  reminiscent  smile : 

"  When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  hast 

loved, 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee  then  j 
Or  if  from  their  slumber  the  veil  be  removed, 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence  and  close  it  again. 
And,  oh  !  if  't  is  pain  to  remember  how  far 
From  the  pathway  of  light  he  was  tempted  to 

roam, 

Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 
That  arose  on  his  darkness  and  guided  him 
home." 

The  judge  paused,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
fire ;  then  he  said :  "  I  think  I  '11  wait  up  for 
the  boy  to-night,  Sue.  I  want  to  tell  him 
the  good  news  myself.  You  have  n't  spoken 
of  it!" 

"No,  indeed.  I  have  n't  seen  him  since 
breakfast.  Melvy  says  he  spends  his  spare 
time  on  the  river.  That  's  what  's  giving 
him  the  malaria,  too,  you  mark  my  words." 

It  was  after  eleven  when  Sandy's  step 
sounded  on  the  porch.  At  the  judge's  call 
he  opened  the  sitting-room  door,  and  stood 

213 


Sandy 

dazed  by  the  sudden  light.  The  judge 
noticed  that  he  was  pale  and  dejected,  and 
he  suppressed  a  smile  over  the  imaginary 
troubles  of  youth. 

1  'What  's  the  matter?  Are  you  sick?" 
he  asked. 

" No,  sir." 

"Come  in  to  the  fire;  it  's  a  bit  chilly 
these  nights." 

Sandy  dropped  listlessly  into  a  chair, 
with  his  back  to  the  light. 

"There  are  several  things  I  want  to  talk 
over,"  continued  the  judge.  "One  is  about 
Ricks  Wilson.  He  has  behaved  very  badly 
ever  since  that  affair  in  August.  Every 
body  who  goes  near  the  jail  comes  away 
with  reports  of  his  threats  against  me.  He 
seems  to  think  I  am  holding  his  trial  over 
until  January,  when  the  fact  is, I  have  been 
trying  to  get  him  released  on  your  account. 
It  is  of  no  use,  though ;  he  will  have  to  wait 
his  turn." 

"I  'm  sorry,  sir,"  said  Sandy,  without 
looking  up. 

214 


The  Victim 


"Then  there  's  Carter  Nelson  encourag 
ing  him  in  his  feeling  against  me.  It  seems 
that  Nelson  wants  the  fellow  to  drive  for 
him  at  the  fall  trots,  and  he  has  given  me 
no  end  of  trouble  about  getting  him  off. 
What  an  insolent  fellow  Nelson  is!  He 
talked  very  ugly  in  my  office  yesterday,  and 
made  various  threats  about  making  me  re 
gret  any  interference.  I  would  n't  have 
stood  it  from  any  one  else;  but  Carter  is 
hardly  responsible.  I  have  watched  him 
from  the  time  he  was  born.  He  came  into 
the  world  with  a  mortal  illness,  and  I  doubt 
if  he  ever  had  a  well  day  in  his  life.  He  's 
a  degenerate,  Sandy;  he  's  bearing  the  sins 
of  a  long  line  of  dissolute  ancestors.  We 
have  to  be  patient  with  men  like  that;  we 
have  to  look  on  them  as  we  do  on  the 
insane. ' ' 

He  waited  for  some  response,  but,  getting 
none,  pulled  his  chair  in  confidential  prox 
imity  and  laid  his  hand  on  Sandy's  knee. 
"However,  that  's  neither  here  nor  there," 
he  said.  "I  have  a  surprise  for  you.  I 

215 


Sandy 

could  n't  let  you  go  to  bed  without  telling 
you  about  it.  It  's  about  your  future, 
Sandy.  I  Ve  been  talking  it  over  with  Mr. 
Moseley,  and  he  is  confident— ' ' 

Suddenly  Sandy  rose  and  stood  by  the 
table. 

" Don't  be  making  any  more  plans  for 
me,"  he  said  desperately;  "I  Ve  made  up 
me  mind  to  enlist." 

"Enlist!    In  the  army!" 

"Yes;  I  Ve  got  to  get  away.  I  must  go 
so  far  that  I  can't  come  back;  and,  judge— 
I  want  to  go  to-morrow ! ' ' 

"Is  it  money  matters?" 

"No." 

A  long  silence  followed— of  the  kind  that 
ripens  confidence.  Presently  Sandy  lifted 
his  haggard  eyes:  "It  's  nothing  I  'm 
ashamed  of,  judge;  ye  must  take  me  word 
for  that.  It  's  like  taking  the  heart  out  of 
me  body  to  go,  but  I  Ve  made  up  me  mind. 
Nothing  on  earth  can  change  me  purpose; 
I  enlist  on  the  morrow." 

The  judge  looked  at  him  long  and  ear- 

216 


The  Victim 


nestly  over  his  glasses,  then  he  asked  in 
calm,  judicial  tones:  "Is  her  answer  final?" 

Sandy  started  from  his  chair.  How  finite 
intelligence  could  have  discovered  the  in 
nermost  secret  of  his  soul  seemed  little 
short  of  miraculous.  But  the  relief  of  being 
able  to  pour  out  his  feelings  mastered  all 
other  considerations. 

"Oh,  sir,  there  was  never  a  question. 
Like  the  angel  she  is,  she  let  me  be  near  her 
so  long  as  I  held  my  peace ;  but,  fool  that  I 
am,  I  break  me  promise  again  and  again. 
I  can't  keep  silent  when  I  see  her.  The 
truth  would  burst  from  me  lips  if  I  was 
dumb." 

"And  you  think  you  would  be  better  if 
you  were  out  of  her  sight?" 

"Is  a  starving  man  better  when  he  is 
away  from  food!"  asked  Sandy,  fiercely. 
"Heaven  knows  it  's  not  of  meself  I  'm 
thinking.  It  ?s  breaking  her  tender  heart 
to  see  me  misery  staring  her  in  the  face, 
and  I  '11  put  it  out  of  her  sight. ' ' 

"Is  it  Ruth!"  asked  the  judge. 

217 


Sandy 

—————^^^— ________         • 

Sandy  assented  with  bowed  head. 

The  judge  got  up  and  stood  before  the 
fire. 

"Did  n't  you  know,'7  he  began  as  kindly 
as  he  could  put  it,  "that  you  were  not  in 
her— that  is,  that  she  was  not  of  your—  " 

Sandy  lifted  blazing  eyes,  hot  with  the 
passion  of  youth. 

"If  she  ?d  been  in  heaven  and  I  'd  been 
in  hell,  I  'd  have  stretched  out  my  arms  to 
her  still !" 

Something  in  his  eyes,  in  his  voice,  in  his 
intensity,  brought  the  judge  to  his  side. 

"How  long  has  this  thing  been  going 
on?"  he  asked  seriously. 

"Four  years!" 

"Before  you  came  here?" 

"Yes." 

' '  You  followed  her  here  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

Whereupon  the  judge  gave  vent  to  the 
one  profane  word  in  his  vocabulary. 

Then  Sandy,  having  confided  so  far, 
made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  breaking  down 

218 


The  Victim 


at  the  end  when  he  tried  to  describe  Ruth's 
goodness  and  the  sorrow  his  misery  had 
caused  her. 

When  it  was  over  the  judge  had  hold  of 
his  hand  and  was  bestowing  large,  indis 
criminate  pats  upon  his  head  and  shoulders. 

"It  's  hard  luck,  Sandy;  hard  luck.  But 
you  must  brace  up,  boy.  Everybody  wants 
something  in  the  world  he  can't  get.  We 
all  go  under,  sooner  or  later,  with  some  wish 
ungratified.  Now  I  Ve  always  wanted—" 
he  pressed  his  fingers  on  his  lips  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  went  on— "the  one  thing  I  Ve 
wanted  was  a  son.  It  seemed  to  me  there 
was  nothing  else  in  the  world  would  make 
up  to  me  for  that  lack.  I  had  money  more 
than  enough,  and  health  and  friends ;  but  I 
wanted  a  boy.  When  you  came  I  said  to 
Sue:  'Let  's  keep  him  a  while  just  to  see 
how  it  would  feel. '  It  's  been  worth  while, 
Sandy;  you  have  done  me  credit.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  the  Lord  did  n  't  mean  me  to  be 
disappointed,  after  all.  And  to-day,  when 
Mr.  Moseley  said  you  ought  to  have  a  year 

219 


Sandy 

or  two  at  the  big  university,  I  said:  'Why 
not!  He  's  just  like  my  own.  I  '11  send 
him  this  year  and  next,  and  then  he  can 
come  home  and  be  a  comfort  to  me  all  the 
rest  of  my  days.'  That  's  what  I  was  sit 
ting  up  to  tell  you,  Sandy;  but  now—" 

' i  And  ye  sha  'n  't  be  disappointed ! ' '  cried 
Sandy.  "I  '11  go  anywhere  you  say,  do  any 
thing  you  wish.  Only  you  would  n  't  be  ask 
ing  me  to  stay  here!" 

' '  Not  now,  Sandy ;  not  for  a  while. ' ' 

" Never!— so  long  as  she  's  here.  I  '11 
never  bring  me  sorrow  between  her  and  the 
sun  again— so  help  me,  Heaven !  And  if  the 
Lord  gives  me  strength,  I  '11  never  see  her 
face  again,  so  long  as  I  live!" 

"Go  to  bed,  boy;  go  to  bed.  You  are 
tired  out.  We  will  ship  you  off  to  the  uni 
versity  next  week." 

"Can't  I  be  going  to-morrow!  Friday, 
then!  I  'd  never  dare  trust  meself  over  the 
week. ' ' 

"Friday,  then.  But  mind,  no  more  pran 
cing  to-night ;  we  must  both  go  to  bed. ' ' 

220 


The  Victim 


Neither  of  them  did  so,  however.  Sandy 
went  to  his  room  and  sat  in  his  window, 
watching  a  tiny  light  that  flickered,  far 
across  the  valley,  in  the  last  bend  of  the 
river  before  it  left  the  town.  His  muscles 
were  tense,  his  nerves  a-tingle,  as  he 
strained  his  eyes  in  the  darkness  to  keep 
watch  of  the  beacon.  It  was  the  last  glimpse 
of  home  to  a  sailor  who  expected  never  to 
return. 

Down  in  the  sitting-room  the  judge  was 
lost  in  the  pages  of  a  worn  old  copy  of  Tom 
Moore.  He  fingered  the  pages  with  a  ten 
derness  of  other  days,  and  lingered  over 
the  forgotten  lines  with  a  half-quizzical, 
half-sad  smile  on  his  lips.  For  he  had  been 
a  lover  once,  and  Sandy's  romance  stirred 
dead  leaves  in  his  heart  that  sent  up  a  faint 
perfume  of  memory. 

"Yes,"  he  mused  half  aloud;  "I  marked 
that  one  too : 

"  Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 
That  arose  on  his  darkness  and  guided  him 

home." 
U  221 


CHAPTER  XIX 


THE  TKIALS  OF  AN  ASSISTANT  POSTMASTEB 

Y  all  laws  of  mercy  the  post 
master  in  a  small  town 
should  be  old  and  mentally 
near-sighted.  Jimmy  Reed 
was  young  and  curious.  He 
had  even  yielded  to  temptation  once  in  re 
moving  a  stamp  on  a  letter  from  Annette 
Fenton  to  a  strange  suitor.  Not  that  he 
wanted  to  delay  the  letter.  He  only  wanted 
to  know  if  she  put  tender  messages  under 
the  stamp  when  she  wrote  to  other  people. 

During  the  two  years  Sandy  remained  at 
the  university,  Jimmy  handed  his  letters 
out  of  the  post-office  window  to  the  judge 
once  a  week,  following  them  half-way  with 
his  body  to  pick  up  the  verbal  crumbs  of 
interest  the  judge  might  let  fall  while  peru- 

222 


The  Trials  of  an  Assistant  Postmaster 

sing  them.  The  supremacy  which  Sandy 
had  established  in  the  base-ball  days  had 
lent  him  a  permanent  halo  in  the  eyes  of 
the  younger  boys  of  Clayton.  i '  Letter  from 
Sandy  this  morning,"  Jimmy  would  an 
nounce,  adding  somewhat  anxiously,  " Ain't 
he  on  the  team  yet?" 

The  judge  was  obliging  and  easy-going, 
and  he  frequently  gratified  Jimmy's  curi 
osity. 

"No;  he  's  studying  pretty  hard  these 
days.  He  says  he  is  through  with  ath 
letics." 

"Does  he  like  it  up  there?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes;  I  guess  he  likes  it  well 
enough,"  the  judge  would  answer  tenta 
tively;  "but  I  am  afraid  he  's  working  too 
hard." 

"Looks  like  a  pity  to  spoil  such  a  good 
pitcher,"  said  Jimmy,  thoughtfully.  "I 
never  saw  him  lose  but  one  game,  and  that 
nearly  killed  him." 

"Disappointment  goes  hard  with  him," 
said  the  judge,  and  he  sighed. 

223 


Sandy 

Jimmy's  chronic  interest  developed  into 
acute  curiosity  the  second  winter— about 
the  time  the  Nelsons  returned  to  Clayton 
after  a  long  absence. 

On  Thanksgiving  morning  he  found  two 
letters  bearing  his  hero 's  handwriting.  One 
was  to  Judge  Hollis  and  one  to  Miss  Ruth 
Nelson.  The  next  week  there  were  also  two, 
both  of  which  went  to  Miss  Nelson.  After 
that  it  became  a  regular  occurrence. 

Jimmy  recognized  two  letters  a  week 
from  one  person  to  one  person  as  a  danger- 
signal.  His  curiosity  promptly  rose  to 
fever-heat.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  weigh 
the  letters,  and  roughly  to  calculate  the 
number  of  pages  in  each.  Once  or  twice  he 
felt  something  hard  inside,  and  upon  sub 
mitting  the  envelop  to  his  nose,  he  distin 
guished  the  faint  fragrance  of  pressed 
flowers.  It  was  perhaps  a  blessing  in  dis 
guise  that  the  duty  of  sorting  the  outgoing 
mail  did  not  fall  to  his  lot.  One  added  bit 
of  information  would  have  resulted  in  spon 
taneous  combustion. 

224 


The  Trials  of  an  Assistant  Postmaster 


By  and  by  letters  came  daily,  their  weight 
increasing  until  they  culminated,  about 
Christmas-time,  in  a  special-delivery  letter 
which  bristled  under  the  importance  of  its 
extra  stamp. 

The  same  morning  the  telegraph  opera 
tor  stopped  in  to  ask  if  the  Nelsons  had 
been  in  for  their  mail.  "I  have  a  message 
for  Miss  Nelson,  but  I  thought  they  started 
for  California  this  morning." 

"It  's  to-morrow  morning  they  go,"  said 
Jimmy.  "I  '11  send  the  message  out.  I  Ve 
got  a  special  letter  for  her,  and  they  can 
both  go  out  by  the  same  boy. ' ' 

When  the  operator  had  gone,  Jimmy 
promptly  unfolded  the  yellow  slip,  which 
was  innocent  of  envelop. 

Do  not  read  special-delivery  letter.  Will  ex 
plain.  S.  K. 

For  some  time  he  sat  with  the  letter  in 
one  hand  and  the  message  in  the  other. 
Why  had  Sandy  written  that  huge  letter  if 
he  did  not  want  her  to  read  it!  Why  did  n't 

225 


Sandy 

he  want  her  to  read  it?  Questions  buzzed 
about  him  like  bees. 

Large  ears  are  said  to  be  indicative  of  an 
inquisitive  nature.  Jimmy's  stood  out  like 
the  handles  on  a  loving-cup.  With  all  this 
explosive  material  bottled  up  in  him,  he  felt 
like  a  torpedo-boat  deprived  of  action.  . 

After  a  while  he  got  up  and  went  into  the 
drug-store  next  door.  When  he  came  back 
he  made  sure  he  was  alone  in  the  office. 
Then  he  propped  up  the  lid  of  his  desk  with 
the  top  of  his  head,  in  a  manner  acquired  at 
school,  and  hiding  behind  this  improvised 
screen,  he  carefully  took  from  his  pocket  a 
small  bottle  of  gasolene.  Pouring  a  little  on 
his  handkerchief,  he  applied  it  to  the  en 
velop  of  the  special-delivery  letter. 

As  if  by  magic,  the  words  within  showed 
through ;  and  by  frequent  applications  of  the 
liquid  the  engrossed  Jimmy  deciphered  the 
following : 

—like  the  moan  of  the  sea  in  my  heart,  and  it 
will  not  be  still.  Heart,  body,  and  soul  will  call 
to  you,  Ruth,  so  long  as  the  breath  is  in  my  body. 

228 


The  Trials  of  an  Assistant  Postmaster 


I  have  not  the  courage  to  be  your  friend.  I  swear, 
with  all  the  strength  I  have  left,  never  to  see  you 
nor  write  you  again.  God  bless  you,  my— 

A  noise  at  the  window  brought  Jimmy  to 
the  surface.  It  was  Annette  Fenton,  and 
she  seemed  nervous  and  excited. 

1  i Mercy,  Jimmy!  What  's  the  m-matter? 
You  looked  like  you  were  caught  eating 
doughnuts  in  study  hour.  What  a  funny 
smell!  Say,  Jimmy;  don't  you  want  to  do 
something  for  me?" 

Jimmy  had  spent  his  entire  youth  in  urg 
ing  her  to  accept  everything  that  was  his, 
and  he  hailed  this  as  a  good  omen. 

"I  have  a  1-letter  here  for  dad,"  she  went 
on,  fidgeting  about  uneasily  and  watching 
the  door.  "I  don't  want  him  to  g-get  it  un 
til  after  the  last  train  goes  to-night.  Will 
you  see  that  he  d-does  n't  get  it  before  nine 
o'clock?" 

Jimmy  took  the  letter  and  looked  blankly 
from  it  to  Annette. 

"Why,  it  's  from  you!" 

"What  if  it  is,  you  b-booby?"  she  cried 

227 


Sandy 

sharply;  then  she  changed  her  tactics  and 
looked  up  appealingly  through  the  little 
square  window. 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  do  help  me  out!  That  's 
a  d-dear!  I  'm  in  no  end  of  a  scrape. 
You  '11  do  as  I  ask,  now  w-w-won  't  you  ? ' ' 

Jimmy  surrendered  on  the  spot. 

"Now,"  said  Annette,  greatly  relieved, 
"find  out  what  time  the  d-down  train  starts, 
and  if  it  's  on  time. ' ' 

"It  ought  to  start  at  three,"  reported 
Jimmy  after  consulting  the  telegraph  opera 
tor.  "It  '&  an  hour  late  on  account  of  the 
snow.  Expecting  somebody?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Going  to  the  city  yourself?" 

"Of  course  not.  Whatever  made  you 
think  that?"  she  cried  with  unnecessary 
vehemence.  Then,  changing  the  subject 
abruptly,  she  added:  "G-guess  who  has 
come  home?" 

"Who?"  cried  Jimmy,  with  palpitating 
ears. 

"  Sandy  Kilday.    You  never  saw  anybody 

228 


The  Trials  of  an  Assistant  Postmaster 

look  so  g-grand.  He  's  gotten  to  be  a  regu 
lar  swell,  and  he  walks  like  this." 

Annette  held  her  umbrella  horizontally, 
squared  her  shoulders,  and  swung  bravely 
across  the  room. 

"  Sandy  Kilday?"  gasped  Jimmy,  with  a 
clutch  at  the  letter  in  his  pocket.  "  Where  's 
he  at?" 

' i  He  's  trying  to  get  up  from  the  d-depot. 
He  has  been  an  hour  coming  two  squares. 
Everybody  has  stopped  him,  from  Mr.  Mose- 
ley  on  down  to  the  b-blacksmith  's  twins. ' ' 

"Is  he  coming  this  way?"  asked  Jimmy, 
wild-eyed  and  anxious. 

Annette  stepped  to  the  window. 

"Yes;  they  are  crossing  the  street  now." 
She  opened  the  sash  and,  snatching  a  hand 
ful  of  snow,  rolled  it  into  a  ball,  which  she 
sailed  out  of  the  window.  It  was  promptly 
answered  by  one  from  below,  which  whirled 
past  her  and  shattered  itself  against  the 
wall. 

"Dare,  dare,  double  dare!"  she  called  as 
she  flung  handfuls  of  loose  snow  from  the 

229 


Sandy 

window-ledge.  A  quick  volley  of  balls  fol 
lowed,  then  the  door  burst  open.  Sandy  and 
Ruth  Nelson  stood  laughing  on  the  thresh 
old. 

"Hello,  partner!"  sang  out  Sandy  to 
Jimmy.  l  i  Still  at  the  old  work,  I  see !  Do 
you  mind  how  you  taught  me  to  count  the 
change  when  I  first  sold  stamps!7' 

Jimmy  tried  to  smile,  but  his  effort  was  a 
failure.  The  interesting  tangle  of  facts  and 
circumstances  faded  from  his  mind,  and  he 
resorted  instinctively  to  nature's  first  law. 
With  an  agitated  countenance,  he  sought 
self-preservation  by  waving  Sandy's  letter 
behind  him  in  a  frantic  effort  to  banish,  if 
possible,  the  odor  of  his  guilt. 

Sandy  stayed  at  the  door  with  Annette, 
but  Ruth  came  to  the  window  and  asked 
for  her  mail.  When  she  smiled  at  the  con 
trite  Jimmy  she  scattered  the  few  remain 
ing  ideas  that  lingered  in  his  brain.  With 
crimson  face  and  averted  eyes,  he  handed 
her  the  letter,  forgetting  that  telegrams  ex 
isted. 

230 


The  Trials  of  an  Assistant  Postmaster 

He  saw  her  send  a  quick,  puzzled  glance 
from  the  letter  to  Sandy;  he  saw  her  turn 
away  from  the  door  and  tear  open  the  en 
velop  ;  then,  to  his  everlasting  credit,  he  saw 
no  more. 

When  he  ventured  forth  from  behind  his 
desk  the  office  was  empty.  He  made  a  cau 
tious  survey  of  the  premises ;  then,  opening 
a  back  window,  he  seized  a  small  bottle  by 
the  neck  and  hurled  it  savagely  against  the 
brick  wall  opposite. 


231 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   IKONY   OF    CHANCE 


HE  snow,  which  had  begun 
as  an  insignificant  flurry  in 
the  morning,  developed  into 
a  storm  by  afternoon. 

Four  miles  from  town,  in 
a  dreary  stretch  of  country,  a  dejected- 
looking  object  tramped  along  the  railroad- 
track.  His  hat  was  pulled  over  his  eyes  and 
his  hands  were  thrust  in  his  pockets.  Now 
and  again  he  stopped,  listened,  and  looked  at 
his  watch. 

It  was  Sandy  Kilday,  and  he  was  waiting 
for  the  freight-train  with  the  fixed  intention 
of  committing  suicide. 

The  complications  arising  from  Jimmy 
Reed's  indiscretion  had  resulted  disas 
trously.  When  Sandy  found  that  Ruth  had 

232 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

read  his  letter,  his  common  sense  took  flight. 
Instead  of  a  supplicant,  he  became  an  in 
vader,  and  stormed  the  citadel  with  such 
hot-headed  passion  and  fervor  that  Euth 
fled  in  affright  to  the  innermost  chamber  of 
her  maidenhood,  and  there,  barred  and  bar 
ricaded,  withstood  the  siege. 

His  one  desire  in  life  now  was  to  quit  it. 
He  felt  as  if  he  had  read  his  death-warrant, 
and  it  was  useless  ever  again  to  open  his 
eyes  on  this  gray,  impossible  world. 

He  did  not  know  how  far  he  had  come. 
Everything  about  him  was  strange  and  un 
friendly  :  the  woods  had  turned  to  gaunt  and 
gloomy  skeletons  that  shivered  and  moaned 
in  the  wind;  the  sunny  fields  of  ragweed 
were  covered  with  a  pall;  and  the  river— his 
dancing,  singing  river— was  a  black  and  sul 
len  stream  that  closed  remorselessly  over 
the  dying  snowflakes.  His  woods,  his  fields, 
his  river,— they  knew  him  not;  he  stared  at 
them  blankly  and  they  stared  back  at  him. 

A  rabbit,  frightened  at  his  approach, 
jumped  out  of  the  bushes  and  went  bounding 

233 


Sandy 

down  the  track  ahead  of  him.  The  sight  of 
the  round  little  cottontail  leaping  from  tie 
to  tie  brought  a  momentary  diversion;  but 
he  did  not  want  to  be  diverted. 

With  an  effort  he  came  back  to  his  stern 
purpose.  He  forced  himself  to  face  the 
facts  and  the  future.  What  did  it  matter  if 
he  was  only  twenty-one,  with  his  life  before 
him!  What  satisfaction  was  it  to  have  won 
first  honors  at  the  university?  There  was 
but  one  thing  in  tKe  world  that  made  life 
worth  living,  and  that  was  denied  him.  Per 
haps  after  he  was  gone  she  would  love  him. 

This  thought  brought  remarkable  conso 
lation.  He  pictured  to  himself  her  remorse 
when  she  heard  the  tragic  news.  He  at 
tended  in  spirit  his  own  funeral,  and  even 
saw  her  tears  fall  upon  his  still  face.  Mean 
while  he  listened  impatiently  for  the  train. 

Instead  of  the  distant  rumble  of  the  cars, 
he  heard  on  the  road  below  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs,  quickly  followed  by  voices. 
Slipping  behind  the  embankment,  he  waited 
for  the  vehicle  to  pass.  The  horse  was  evi- 

234 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

dently  walking,  and  the  voices  came  to  him 
distinctly. 

"I  'm  not  a  coward— any  s-such  thing! 
We  ought  n't  to  have  c-come,  in  the  first 
place.  I  can't  go  with  you.  Please  turn 
round,  C-Carter,— please ! ' ' 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  high,  child 
like  voice,  with  its  faltering  speech. 

Sandy's  gloomy  frown  narrowed  to  a 
scowl.  What  business  had  Annette  out 
there  in  the  storm?  Where  was  she  going 
with  Carter  Nelson! 

He  quickened  his  steps  to  keep  within 
sight  of  the  slow-moving  buggy. 

"  There  's  nothing  out  this  road  but  the 
Junction,"  he  thought,  trying  to  collect  his 
wits.  "  Could  they  be  taking  the  train 
there?  He  goes  to  California  in  the  morn 
ing,  but  where  's  he  taking  Nettie  to-day? 
And  she  did  n't  want  to  be  going,  either; 
did  n  't  I  hear  her  say  it  with  her  own  lips  ? ' ' 

He  moved  cautiously  forward,  now  run 
ning  a  few  paces  to  keep  up,  now  crouching 
behind  the  bushes.  Every  sense  was  keenly 

235 


Sandy 

alert;  his  eyes  never  left  the  buggy  for  a 
moment. 

When  the  freight  thundered  up  the  grade, 
he  stepped  mechanically  to  one  side,  keep 
ing  a  vigilant  eye  on  the  couple  ahead,  and 
begrudging  the  time  he  lost  while  the  train 
went  by.  It  was  not  until  an  hour  later 
that  he  remembered  he  had  forgotten  to 
commit  suicide. 

Stepping  back  on  the  ties,  he  hurried  for 
ward.  He  was  convinced  now  that  they 
meant  to  take  the  down  train  which  would 
pass  the  Clayton  train  at  the  Junction  in 
half  an  hour.  Something  must  be  done  to 
save  Annette.  The  thought  of  her  in  the 
city,  at  the  mercy  of  the  irresponsible  Car 
ter,  sent  him  running  down  the  track.  He 
waited  until  he  was  slightly  in  advance  be 
fore  he  descended  abruptly  upon  them. 

Annette  was  sitting  very  straight,  talking 
excitedly,  and  Carter  was  evidently  trying 
to  reassure  her. 

As  Sandy  plunged  down  the  embankment, 
they  started  apart,  and  Carter  reached  for 

236 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

the  whip.  Before  he  could  urge  the  horse 
forward,  Sandy  had  swung  himself  lightly 
to  the  step  of  the  buggy,  and  was  leaning 
back  against  the  dash-board.  He  looked 
past  Carter  to  Annette.  She  was  making 
a  heroic  effort  to  look  unconcerned  and  in 
different,  but  her  eyelids  were  red,  and  her 
handkerchief  was  twisted  into  a  damp  little 
string  about  her  fingers.  Sandy  wasted  no 
time  in  diplomacy;  he  struck  straight  out 
from  the  shoulder. 

"If  it  's  doing  something  you.  don't 
want  to,  you  don't  have  to,  Nettie.  I  'm 
here." 

Carter  stopped  his  horse. 

"Will  you  get  down?"  he  demanded 
angrily. 

"After  you,"  said  Sandy. 

Carter  measured  his  man,  then  stepped 
to  the  ground.  Sandy  promptly  followed. 

"And  now,"  said  Carter,  "you  '11  per 
haps  be  good  enough  to  explain  what  you 
mean. ' ' 

Sandy  still  kept  his  hand  on  the  buggy 

15  237 


Sandy 

and  his  eyes  on  Annette;  when  he  spoke  it 
was  to  her. 

"If  it  's  your  wish  to  go  on,  say  the 
word. ' ' 

The  tearful  young  person  in  the  buggy 
looked  very  limp  and  miserable,  but  de 
clined  to  make  any  remarks. 

' '  Miss  Fenton  and  I  expect  to  be  married 
this  evening, ' '  said  Carter,  striving  for  dig 
nity,  though  his  breath  came  short  with  ex 
citement.  "We  take  the  train  in  twenty 
minutes.  Your  interference  is  not  only  im 
pudent—it  's  useless.  I  know  perfectly  well 
who  sent  you :  it  was  Judge  Hollis.  He  was 
the  only  man  we  met  after  we  left  town. 
Just  return  to  him,  with  my  compliments, 
and  tell  him  I  say  he  is  a  meddler  and  a 
fool!" 

"  Annette, "  said  Sandy,  softly,  coming 
toward  her,  "the  doctor  '11  be  wanting  his 
coffee  by  now. ' ' 

"Let  me  pass,"  cried  Carter,  "you  com 
mon  hound!  Take  your  foot  off  that  step 
or  I  '11—  "  He  made  a  quick  motion  toward 

238 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

his  hip,  and  Sandy  caught  his  hand  as  it 
closed  on  a  pearl-handled  revolver. 

< '  None  of  that,  man !  I  '11  be  going  when 
I  have  her  word.  Is  it  good-by,  Annette? 
Must  I  be  taking  the  word  to  your  father 
that  you  've  left  him  now  and  for  always! 
Yes?  Then  a  shake  of  the  hand  for  old 
times'  sake." 

Annette  slipped  a  cold  little  hand  into  his 
free  one,  and  feeling  the  solid  grasp  of  his 
broad  palm,  she  clung  to  it  as  a  drowning 
man  clings  to  a  spar. 

"I  can't  go!"  she  cried,  in  a  burst  of 
tears.  1 1 1  can 't  leave  dad  this  way !  Make 
him  take  me  b-back,  Sandy!  I  want  to  go 
home!" 

Carter  stood  very  still  and  white.  His 
thin  body  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot, 
and  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead 
like  whip-cord.  He  clenched  his  hands  in 
an  effort  to  control  himself.  At  Annette's 
words  he  stepped  aside  with  elaborate 
courtesy. 

"You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  go  with 

239 


Sandy 

Mr.  Kilday.  All  I  ask  is  that  he  will  meet 
me  as  soon  as  we  get  back  to  town. ' ' 

"I  can't  go  b-back  on  the  train !"  cried 
Annette,  with  a  glance  at  her  bags  and  boxes. 
11  Every  one  would  suspect  something  if  I 
did.  Oh,  why  d-did  I  come?" 

"My  buggy  is  at  your  disposal,"  said 
Carter ;  ' '  perhaps  your  disinterested  friend, 
Mr.  Kilday,  could  be  persuaded  to  drive  you 
back." 

"But,  Carter,"  cried  Annette,  in  quick 
dismay,  "you  must  come,  too.  I  '11  bring 
dad  r-round ;  I  always  do.  Then  we  can  be 
married  at  home,  and  I  can  have  a  veil  and 
a  r-ring  and  presents." 

She  smiled  at  him  coaxingly,  but  he  folded 
his  arms  and  scowled. 

"You  go  with  me  to  the  city,  or  you  go 
back  to  Clayton  with  him.  You  have  just 
three  minutes  to  make  up  your  mind. ' ' 

Sandy  saw  her  waver.  The  first  minute 
she  looked  at  him,  the  second  at  Carter.  He 
took  no  chances  on  the  third.  With  a  quick 

240 


"V 


— * 


"  Sandy  saw  her  waver 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

bound,  he  was  in  the  buggy  and  turning  the 
horse  homeward. 

"But  I  Ve  decided  to  go  with  Carter!" 
cried  Annette,  hysterically.  "Turn  b-back, 
Sandy !  I  Ve  changed  my  mind. ' ' 

"Change  it  again/'  advised  Sandy  as  he 
laid  the  whip  gently  across  the  horse 's  back. 

Carter  Nelson  flung  furiously  off  to  catch 
the  train  for  town,  while  the  would-be  bride 
shed  bitter  tears  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
would-be  suicide. 

The  snow  fell  faster  and  faster,  and  the 
gray  day  deepened  to  dusk.  For  a  long 
time  they  drove  along  in  silence,  both  busy 
with  their  own  thoughts. 

Suddenly  they  were  lurched  violently  for 
ward  as  the  horse  shied  at  something  in  the 
bushes.  Sandy  leaned  forward  in  time  to 
see  a  figure  on  all  fours  plunging  back  into 
the  shrubbery. 

" Annette, "  he  whispered  excitedly,  "did 
you  see  that  man 's  face  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  clinging  to  his  arm; 
"don't  leave  me,  Sandy!" 

243 


Sandy 

1 '  What  did  he  look  like !    Tell  me,  quick ! '  ' 

"He  had  little  eyes  like  shoe-buttons,  and 
his  teeth  stuck  out.  Do  you  suppose  he  was 
hiding? " 

"It  was  Ricks  Wilson,  or  I  am  a  blind 
man!"  cried  Sandy,  standing*  up  in  the 
buggy  and  straining  his  eyes  in  the  dark 
ness. 

"Why,  he  's  in  jail!" 

i  i  May  I  never  trust  me  two  eyes  to  speak 
the  truth  again  if  that  was  n  't  Ricks ! ' ' 

When  they  started  they  found  that  the 
harness  was  broken,  and  all  efforts  to  fix 
it  were  in  vain. 

"It  's  half -past  five  now,"  cried  Annette. 
"If  I  don't  get  home  b-before  dad,  he  '11 
have  out  the  fire  department." 

"There  ?s  a  farm-house  a  good  way 
back,"  said  Sandy;  "but  it  's  too  far  for 
you  to  walk.  Will  you  be  waiting  here  in 
the  buggy  until  I  go  for  help?" 

"Well,  I  guess  not!"  said  Annette,  indig 
nantly. 

Sandy  looked  at  the  round  baby  face  be- 

244 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

side  him  and  laughed.  "It  's  not  one  of 
meself  that  blames  you,"  he  said;  "but  how 
are  we  ever  to  get  home  1 ' ' 

Annette  was  not  without  resources. 

' l  What  's  the  matter  with  riding  the  horse 
b-back  to  the  farm!'7 

"And  youl"  asked  Sandy. 

"I  '11  ride  behind. " 

They  became  hilarious  over  the  mounting, 
for  the  horse  bitterly  resented  a  double  bur 
den. 

When  he  found  he  could  not  dispose  of 
it  he  made  a  dash  for  freedom,  and  raced 
over  the  frozen  road  at  such  a  pace  that  they 
were  soon  at  their  destination. 

"He  won  the  handicap, "  laughed  Sandy 
as  he  lifted  his  disheveled  companion  to  the 
ground. 

"It  was  glorious !"  cried  Annette,  gather 
ing  up  her  flying  locks.  "I  lost  every  hair 
pin  but  one." 

At  the  farm-house  they  met  with  a  warm 
reception. 

"Jes  step  right  in  the  kitchen,"  said  the 

245 


Sandy 

farmer.  "Mommer  '11  take  care  of  you 
while  I  go  out  to  the  stable  for  some  rope 
and  another  hoss." 

The  kitchen  was  a  big,  cheerful  room,  full 
of  homely  comfort.  Bright  red  window- 
curtains  were  drawn  against  the  cold  white 
world  outside,  and  the  fire  crackled  merrily 
in  the  stove. 

Sandy  and  Annette  stood,  holding  out 
their  hands  to  the  friendly  warmth.  She 
was  watching  with  interest  the  preparations 
for  supper,  but  he  had  grown  silent  and  pre 
occupied. 

The  various  diversions  of  the  afternoon 
had  acted  as  a  temporary  narcotic,  through 
which  he  struggled  again  and  again  to 
wretched  consciousness.  A  surge  of  con 
tempt  swept  over  him  that  he  could  have 
forgotten  for  a  moment.  He  did  not  want 
to  forget;  he  did  not  want  to  think  of  any 
thing  else. 

i  l  They  smell  awfully  g-good,"  whispered 
Annette. 

"What?" 

246 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

"The  hoe-cakes.  I  did  n't  have  any  din 
ner.  " 

"Neither  did  I." 

Annette  looked  up  quickly.  "What  were 
you  d-doing  out  there  on  the  track,  Sandy  ? ' ' 

The  farmer  ?s  wife  fortunately  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"Hitch  up  yer  cheers,  you  two,  and  take 
a  little  snack  afore  you  go  out  in  the  cold 
ag'in." 

Annette  promptly  accepted,  but  Sandy 
declared  that  he  was  not  hungry.  He  went 
to  the  window  and,  pulling  back  the  cur 
tain,  stared  out  into  the  night.  Was  all  the 
rest  of  life  going  to  be  like  this?  Was  that 
restless,  nervous,  intolerable  pain  going  to 
gnaw  at  his  heart  forever  f 

Meanwhile  the  savory  odor  of  the  hoe- 
cakes  floated  over  his  shoulder  and  bits  of 
the  conversation  broke  in  upon  him. 

"Aw,  take  two  or  three  and  butter  'em 
while  they  are  hot.  Long  sweetening  or 
short  1" 

"Both,"  said  Annette.     "I  never  tasted 

247 


Sandy 

anything  so  g-good.  Sandy,  what  's  the 
matter  with  you!  I  never  saw  you  when 
you  were  n't  hungry  b-before.  Look! 
Won 't  you  try  this  s-sizzly  one  1 ' ' 

Sandy  looked  and  was  lost.  He  ate  with 
a  coming  appetite. 

The  farmer's  wife  served  them  with  de 
lighted  zeal;  she  made  trip  after  trip  from 
the  stove  to  the  table,  pausing  frequently 
to  admire  her  guests. 

"I  Ve  had  six,"  said  Annette;  "do  you 
suppose  I  '11  have  time  for  another  one!" 

"Lemme  give  you  both  a  clean  plate  and 
some  pie,"  suggested  the  eager  housewife. 

Sandy  looked  at  her  and  smiled. 

"I  '11  take  the  clean  plate,"  he  said,  "and 
—and  more  hoe-cakes." 

When  the  farmer  returned,  and  they  rode 
back  to  the  buggy,  Annette  developed  a  sud 
den  fever  of  impatience.  She  fidgeted  about 
while  the  men  patched  up  the  harness,  and 
delayed  their  progress  by  her  fire  of  ques 
tions. 

After  they  started,  Sandy  leaned  back  in 

248 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

the  buggy,  lost  in  the  fog  of  his  unhappiness. 
Off  in  the  distance  he  could  see  the  twinkling 
lights  of  Clayton.  One  was  apart  from  the 
rest ;  that  was  Willowvale. 

A  sob  aroused  him.  Annette,  left  to  her 
self,  had  collapsed.  He  patiently  put  forth 
a  fatherly  hand  and  patted  her  shoulder. 

' '  There,  there,  Nettie !  You  '11  be  all  right 
in  the  morning. ' ' 

"I  won't!"  she  declared  petulantly. 
4 'You  don't  know  anything  ab-b-bout  being 
in  love. ' ' 

Sandy  surveyed  her  with  tolerant  sad 
ness.  Little  her  childish  heart  knew  of  the 
depths  through  which  he  was  passing. 

' '  Do  you  love  him  very  much ! "  he  asked. 

She  nodded  violently.  "Better  than  any 
b-boy  I  was  ever  engaged  to. ' ' 

"He  's  not  worth  it." 

"He  is!" 

A  strained  silence,  then  he  said: 

"Nettie,  could  you  be  forgiving  me  if  I 
told  you  the  Lord's  truth?" 

"Don't    you    suppose    dad's    kept    me 

249 


Sandy 

p-posted  about  his  faults?  Why,  he  would 
walk  a  mile  to  find  out  something  b-bad 
about  Carter  Nelson. ' ' 

"He  would  n't  have  to.  Nelson  's  a  bad 
lot,  Nettie.  It  is  n't  all  his  fault;  it  's  the 
price  he  pays  for  his  blue  blood.  Your 
father  's  the  wise  man  to  try  to  keep  you 
from  being  his  wife." 

' '  Everyb-body  's  down  on  him, ' '  she 
sobbed,  "just  because  he  has  to  d-drink 
sometimes  on  account  of  his  lungs.  I  did  n't 
know  you  were  so  mean. ' ' 

"Will  you  pass  the  word  not  to  see  him 
again  before  he  leaves  in  the  morning?" 

"Indeed,  I  won't!" 

Sandy  stopped  the  horse.  "Then  I  '11 
wait  till  you  do." 

She  tried  to  take  the  lines,  but  he  held 
her  hands.  Then  she  declared  she  would 
walk.  He  helped  her  out  of  the  buggy  and 
watched  her  start  angrily  forth.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  came  rushing  back. 

"Sandy,  you  know  I  can't  g-go  by  myself; 
I  am  afraid.  Take  me  home." 

250 


The  Irony  of  Chance 

"And  you  promise! " 

She  looked  appealingly  at  him,  but  found 
no  mercy.  "You  are  the  very  m-meanest 
boy  I  ever  knew.  Get  me  home  before  d-dad 
finds  out,  and  I  '11  promise  anything.  But 
this  is  the  last  word  I  '11  ever  s-speak  to  you 
as  long  as  I  live." 

At  half-past  seven  they  drove  into  town. 
The  streets  were  full  of  people  and  great 
excitement  prevailed. 

"They  Ve  found  out  about  me!"  wailed 
Annette,  breaking  her  long  silence.  "Oh, 
Sandy,  what  m-must  I  do?" 

Sandy  looked  anxiously  about  him.  He 
knew  that  an  elopement  would  not  cause  the 
present  commotion.  ' '  Jimmy ! "  He  leaned 
out  of  the  buggy  and  called  to  a  boy  who  was 
running  past.  "Jimmy  Keed!  What  's  the 
matter?" 

Jimmy,  breathless  and  hatless,  his  whole 
figure  one  huge  question-mark,  exploded 
like  a  bunch  of  fire-crackers. 

"That  you,  Sandy?  Eicks  Wilson  's 
broke  jail  and  shot  Judge  Hollis.  It  was  at 

251 


Sandy 

half -past  five.  Dr.  Fenton  's  been  out  there 
ever  since.  They  say  the  judge  can't  live 
till  midnight.  We  're  getting  up  a  crowd  to 
go  after  Wilson." 

At  the  first  words  Sandy  had  sprung  to 
his  feet.  ' '  The  judge  shot !  Eicks  Wilson ! 
I  '11  kill  him  for  that.  Get  out,  Annette.  I 
must  go  to  the  judge.  I  '11  be  out  to  the  farm 
in  no  time  and  back  in  less.  Don't  you  be 
letting  them  start  without  me,  Jimmy." 

Whipping  the  already  jaded  horse  to  a 
run,  he  dashed  through  the  crowded  streets, 
over  the  bridge,  and  out  the  turnpike. 

Euth  stood  at  one  of  the  windows  at  Wil- 
lowvale,  peering  anxiously  out  into  the  dark 
ness.  Her  figure  showed  distinctly  against 
the  light  of  the  room  behind  her,  but  Sandy 
did  not  see  her. 

His  soul  was  in  a  wild  riot  of  grief  and 
revenge.  Two  thoughts  tore  at  his  brain: 
one  was  to  see  the  judge  before  he  died,  and 
the  other  was  to  capture  Eicks  Wilson. 


252 


CHAPTER  XXI 


IN    THE   DARK 

N  ominous  stillness  hung  over 
Hollis  farm  as  Sandy  ran 
up  the  avenue.  The  night 
was  dark,  but  the  fallen  snow 
gave  a  half-mysterious  light 
to  the  quiet  scene. 

He  stepped  on  the  porch  with  a  sinking 
heart.  In  the  dimly  lighted  hall  Mr.  Mose- 
ley  and  Mr.  Meech  kept  silent  watch,  their 
faces  grave  with  apprehension.  Without 
stopping  to  speak  to  them,  Sandy  hurried 
to  the  door  of  the  judge's  room.  Before  he 
could  turn  the  knob,  Dr.  Fenton  opened  it 
softly  and,  putting  his  finger  on  his  lips, 
came  out,  cautiously  closing  the  door  behind 
him. 

"You  can't  go  in,"  he  whispered;  "the 

253 


Sandy 

slightest  excitement  might  finish  him.  He  's 
got  one  chance  in  a  hundred,  boy;  we  've 
got  to  nurse  it. ' ' 

' ' Does  he  know ?" 

"Never  has  known  a  thing  since  the  bul 
let  hit  him.  He  was  coming  into  the  sitting- 
room  when  Wilson  fired  through  the  win 
dow.  " 

"The  black-hearted  murderer !"  cried 
Sandy.  l '  I  could  swear  I  saw  him  hiding  in 
the  bushes  between  here  and  the  Junction." 

The  doctor  threw  a  side  glance  at  Mr. 
Meech,  then  said  significantly: 

"Have  they  started  I" 

1 '  Not  yet.  If  there  's  nothing  I  can  do  for 
the  judge,  I  'm  going  with  them." 

"That  's  right.  I  'd  go,  too,  if  I  were 
not  needed  here.  Wait  a  minute,  Sandy." 
His  face  looked  old  and  worn.  "Have 
you  happened  to  see  my  Nettie  since 
noon?" 

"That  I  have,  doctor.  She  was  driving 
with  me,  and  the  harness  broke.  She  's 
home  now." 

254 


In  the  Dark 


' ' Thank  God!"  cried  the  doctor.  "I 
thought  it  was  Nelson." 

Sandy  passed  through  the  dining-room 
and  was  starting  up  the  steps  when  he  heard 
his  name  spoken. 

"Mist'  Sandy!  'Fore  de  Lawd,  where 
you  been  at!  Oh,  we  been  habin'  de  terri- 
blest  times !  My  pore  old  mas  'r  done  been 
shot  down  wifout  bein'  notified  or  nuthin'. 
Pray  de  Lawd  he  won't  die !  I  knowed  some- 
pin7  was  gwine  happen.  I  had  a  division 
jes  'fore  daybreak;  dey  ain't  no  luck  worser 
den  to  dream  'bout  a  tooth  fallin'  out.  Oh, 
Lordy !  Lordy !  I  hope  he  ain  't  gwine  die ! ' ' 

"Hush,  Aunt  Melvy!  Where  's  Mrs. 
Hollisf" 

"She  's  out  in  de  kitchen,  heatin'  water 
an'  waitin'  on  de  doctor.  She  won't  let  me 
do  nuthin'.  Seems  lak  workin'  sorter  lets 
off  her  feelin's.  Pore  Miss  Sue!"  She 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  swayed 
and  sobbed. 

As  Sandy  tried  to  pass,  she  stopped  him 
again,  and  after  looking  furtively  around 

16  255 


Sandy 

she  fumbled  in  her  pocket  for  something 
which  she  thrust  into  his  hand. 

"Hit  's  de  pistol !"  she  whispered.  "I  's 
skeered  to  give  it  to  nobody  else,  'ca'se  I  's 
skeered  dey  'd  try  me  for  a  witness.  He 
done  drap  it  Alongside  de  kitchen  door.  You 
won't  let  on  I  found  it,  honey?  You  won't 
tell  nobody?" 

He  reassured  her,  and  hastened  to  his 
room.  Lighting  his  lamp,  he  hurriedly 
changed  his  coat  for  a  heavier,  and  was 
starting  in  hot  haste  for  the  door  when  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  pistol,  which  he  had  laid 
on  the  table. 

It  was  a  fine,  pearl-handled  revolver, 
thirty-eight  caliber.  He  looked  at  it  closer, 
then  stared  blankly  at  the  floor.  He  had 
seen  it  before  that  afternoon. 

"Why,  Carter  must  have  given  Ricks  the 
pistol,"  he  thought.  "But  Carter  was  out 
at  the  Junction.  What  time  did  it  happen  ? ' ' 

He  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed  and,  press 
ing  his  hands  to  his  temples,  tried  to  force 
the  events  to  take  their  proper  sequence. 

256 


In  the  Dark 


"I  don't  know  when  I  left  town,"  he 
thought,  with  a  shudder ; '  *  it  must  have  been 
nearly  four  when  I  met  Carter  and  Annette. 
He  took  the  train  back.  Yes,  he  would  have 
had  time  to  help  Eicks.  But  I  saw  Eicks 
out  the  turnpike.  It  was  half-past  five,  I 
remember  now.  The  doctor  said  the  judge 
was  shot  at  a  quarter  of  six. ' ' 

A  startled  look  of  comprehension  flashed 
over  his  face.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
tramped  up  and  down  the  small  room. 

"I  know  I  saw  Eicks, "  he  thought,  his 
brain  seething  with  excitement.  "Annette 
saw  him,  too ;  she  described  him.  He  could  n  't 
have  even  driven  back  in  that  time. M 

He  stopped  again  and  stood  staring  in 
tently  before  him.  Then  he  took  the  lamp 
and  slipped  down  the  back  stairs  and  out  the 
side  door. 

The  snow  was  trampled  about  the  window 
and  for  some  space  beyond  it.  The  tracks 
had  been  followed  to  the  river,  the  eager 
searchers  keeping  well  away  from  the  tell 
tale  footsteps  in  order  not  to  obliterate 

257 


Sandy 

them.  Sandy  knelt  in  the  snow  and  held  his 
lamp  close  to  the  single  trail.  The  print 
was  narrow  and  long  and  ended  in  a  taper 
ing  toe.  Ricks 's  broad  foot  would  have  cov 
ered  half  the  space  again.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet  and  started  for  the  house,  then  turned 
back  irresolute. 

When  he  entered  his  little  room  again  the 
slender  footprints  had  been  effaced.  He  put 
the  lamp  on  the  bureau,  and  looked  vacantly 
about  him.  On  the  cushion  was  pinned  a 
note.  He  recognized  Kuth's  writing,  and 
opened  it  mechanically. 

There  were  only  three  lines : 

I  must  see  you  again  before  I  leave.  Be  sure  to 
come  to-night. 

The  words  scarcely  carried  a  meaning  to 
him.  It  was  her  brother  that  had  shot  the 
judge— the  brother  whom  she  had  defended 
and  protected  all  her  life.  It  would  kill  her 
when  she  knew.  And  he,  Sandy  Kilday,  was 
the  only  one  who  suspected  the  truth. 

A  momentary  temptation  seized  him  to 

258 


In  the  Dark 


hold  his  peace;  if  Ricks  were  caught,  it 
would  be  time  enough  to  tell  what  he  knew ; 
if  he  escaped,  one  more  stain  on  his  name 
might  not  matter. 

But  Carter,  the  coward,  where  was  he? 
It  was  his  place  to  speak.  Would  he  let 
Eicks  bear  his  guilt  and  suffer  the  blame? 
Such  burning  rage  against  him  rose  in 
Sandy  that  he  paced  the  room  in  fury. 

Then  he  re-read  Ruth's  note  and  again 
he  hesitated.  What  a  heaven  of  promise  it 
opened  to  him !  Ruth  was  probably  waiting 
for  him  now.  Everything  might  be  differ 
ent  when  he  saw  her  again. 

All  his  life  he  had  followed  the  current; 
the  easy  way  was  his  way,  and  he  came  back 
to  it  again  and  again.  His  thoughts  shifted 
and  formed  and  shifted  again  like  the  bits 
of  color  in  a  kaleidoscope. 

Presently  his  restless  eyes  fell  on  an  old 
chromo  hanging  over  the  mantel.  It  repre 
sented  the  death-bed  of  Washington.  The 
dying  figure  on  the  bed  recalled  that  other 
figure  down-stairs.  In  an  instant  all  the 

259 


Sandy 

floating  forms  in  his  brain  assumed  one 
shape  and  held  it. 

The  judge  must  be  his  first  consideration. 
He  had  been  shot  down  without  cause,  and 
might  pay  his  life  for  it.  There  was  but  one 
thing  to  do :  to  find  the  real  culprit,  give  him 
up,  and  take  the  consequences. 

Slipping  the  note  in  one  pocket  and  the 
revolver  in  another,  he  hurried  down-stairs. 

On  the  lowest  step  he  found  Mrs.  Hollis 
sitting  in  the  dark.  Her  hands  were  locked 
around  her  knees,  and  hard,  dry  sobs  shook 
her  body. 

In  an  instant  he  was  down  beside  her,  his 
arms  about  her.  ' l  He  is  n  't  dead ! ' '  he  whis 
pered  fearfully. 

Mrs.  Hollis  shook  her  head.  "He  has  n't 
moved  an  inch  or  spoken  since  we  put  him 
on  the  bed.  Are  you  going  with  the  men  ? ' ' 

"I  'm  going  to  town  now,"  said  Sandy, 
evasively. 

She  rose  and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  Her 
eyes  were  fierce  with  vindictiveness. 

"Don't  let  them  stop  till  they  Ve  caught 

260 


In  the  Dark 


him,  Sandy.  I  hope  they  will  hang  him  to 
night  1" 

A  movement  in  the  sick-room  called  her 
within,  and  Sandy  hurried  out  to  the  buggy, 
which  was  still  standing  at  the  gate. 

He  lighted  the  lantern  and,  throwing  the 
robe  across  his  knees,  started  for  town.  The 
intense  emotional  strain  under  which  he  had 
labored  since  noon,  together  with  fatigue, 
was  beginning  to  play  tricks  with  his  nerves. 
Twice  he  pulled  in  his  horse,  thinking  he 
heard  voices  in  the  wood.  The  third  time 
he  stopped  and  got  out.  At  infrequent  in 
tervals  a  groan  broke  the  stillness. 

He  climbed  the  snake-fence  and  beat  about 
among  the  bushes.  The  groan  came  again, 
and  he  followed  the  sound. 

At  the  foot  of  a  tall  beech-tree  a  body  was 
lying  face  downward.  He  held  his  lantern 
above  his  head  and  bent  over  it.  It  was  a 
man,  and,  as  he  tried  to  turn  him  over,  he 
saw  a  ;slight  red  stain  on  the  snow  beneath 
his  month.  The  figure,  thus  roused,  stirred 
fried  to  git  up.  As  he  did  so,  the  light 

261 


Sandy 

from  Sandy's  lantern  fell  full  on  the  dazed 
and  swollen  face  of  Carter  Nelson.  The  two 
faced  each  other  for  a  space,  then  Sandy 
asked  him  sharply  what  he  did  there. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Carter,  weakly, 
sinking  back  against  the  tree.  "I  'm  sick. 
Get  me  some  whisky." 

"Wake  up!"  said  Sandy,  shaking  him 
roughly.  ' '  This  is  Kilday  —  Sandy  Kilday. ' ' 

Carter's  eyes  were  still  closed,  but  his  lip 
curled  contemptuously.  "Mr.  Kilday,"  he 
said,  and  smiled  scornfully.  ' i  The  least  said 
about  Mr.  Kilday  the  better. ' ' 

Sandy  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

' i  Nelson,  listen !  Do  you  remember  going 
out  to  the  Junction  with  Annette  Fentonf " 

"That  's  nobody's  business  but  mine. 
I  '11  shoot  the— " 

"Do  you  remember  coming  home  on  the 
train?" 

Carter's  stupid,  heavy  eyes  were  on 
Sandy  now,  and  he  was  evidently  trying  to 
understand  what  he  was  saying.  "Home 
on  the  train  ?  Yes ;  I  came  home  on  train. ' ' 

262 


In  the  Dark 


"And  afterward!"  demanded  Sandy, 
kneeling  before  him  and  looking  intently  in 
his  eyes. 

' i  Gus  Heyser 's  saloon,  and  then— ' ' 

6 '  And  then ! ' '  repeated  Sandy. 

Carter  shook  his  head  and  looked  about 
him  bewildered. 

"Where  am  I  now?  What  did  you  bring 
me  here  for?" 

"Look  me  straight,  Nelson,"  said  Sandy. 
"Don't  you  move  your  eyes.  You  left  Gus 
Heyser 's  and  came  out  the  pike  to  the  Hollis 
farm,  did  n't  you?" 

"Hollis  farm?"  Carter  repeated  vaguely. 
"No;  I  did  n't  go  there." 

"You  went  up  to  the  window  and  waited. 
Don't  you  remember  the  snow  on  the  ground 
and  the  light  inside  the  window?" 

Carter  seemed  struggling  to  remember, 
but  his  usually  sensitive  face  was  vacant  and 
perplexed. 

Sandy  moved  nearer.  "You  waited  there 
by  the  window,"  he  went  on  with  subdued 
excitement,  for  the  hope  was  high  in  his 

263 


Sandy 

heart  that  Carter  was  innocent.  "You 
waited  ever  so  long,  until  a  pistol  was 
fired-  " 

"Yes,"  broke  in  Carter,  his  lips  apart; 
' '  a  pistol-shot  close  to  my  head !  It  woke  me 
up.  I  ran  before  they  could  shoot  me  again. 
Where  was  it— Gus  Heyser's?  What  am  I 
doing  here?" 

For  answer  Sandy  pulled  Carter's  revol 
ver  from  his  pocket,  "Did  you  have  that 
this  afternoon?" 

"Yes,"  said  Carter,  a  troubled  look  com 
ing  into  his  eyes.  "Where  did  you  get  it, 
Kilday?" 

"It  was  found  outside  Judge  Hollis's 
window  after  he  had  been  shot. ' ' 

"Judge  Hollis  shot!    Who  did  it!" 

Sandy  again  looked  at  the  pistol. 

"My  God,  man!"  cried  Carter;  "you 
don't  mean  that  I—"  He  cowered  back 
against  the  tree  and  shook  from  head  to 
foot.  "Kilday!"  he  cried  presently,  seiz 
ing  Sandy  by  the  wrist  with  his  long,  deli 
cate  hands,  "does  any  one  else  know?" 

264 


In  the  Dark 


Sandy  shook  his  head. 

"Then  I  must  get  away;  you  must  help 
me.  I  did  n't  know  what  I  was  doing.  I 
don 't  know  now  what  I  have  done.  Is  he— ' ' 

"He  's  not  dead  yet. " 

Carter  struggled  to  his  feet,  but  a  terrible 
attack  of  coughing  seized  him,  and  he  sank 
back  exhausted.  The  handkerchief  which 
he  held  to  his  mouth  was  red  with  blood. 

Sandy  stretched  him  out  on  the  snow, 
where  he  lay  for  a  while  with  closed  eyes. 
He  was  very  white,  and  his  lips  twitched 
convulsively. 

A  vehicle  passed  out  the  road,  and  Sandy 
started  up.  He  must  take  some  decisive  step 
at  once.  The  men  were  probably  waiting  in 
the  square  for  him  now.  He  must  stop  them 
at  any  cost. 

Carter  opened  his  eyes,  and  the  terror 
returned  to  them. 

"Don't  give  me  up,  Kilday!"  he  cried, 
trying  to  rise.  "I  '11  pay  you  anything  you 
ask.  It  was  the  drink.  I  did  n  't  know  what 
I  was  doing.  For  the  Lord's  sake,  don't 

265 


Sandy 

give  me  up !  I  have  n't  long  to  live  at  best. 
I  can't  disgrace  the  family.  I— I  am  the  last 
of  the  line— last  Nelson—"  His  voice  was 
high  and  uncontrolled,  and  his  eyes  were 
glassy  and  fixed. 

Sandy  stood  before  him  in  an  agony  of 
indecision.  He  had  fought  it  out  with  him 
self  there  in  his  bedroom,  and  all  personal 
considerations  were  swept  from  his  mind. 
All  he  wanted  now  was  to  do  right.  But  what 
was  right?  He  groped  blindly  about  in  the 
darkness  of  his  soul,  and  no  guiding  light 
showed  him  the  way. 

With  a  groan,  he  knotted  his  fingers  to 
gether  and  prayed  the  first  real  prayer  his 
heart  had  ever  uttered.  It  was  wordless  and 
formless,  just  an  inarticulate  cry  for  help  in 
the  hour  of  need. 

The  answer  came  when  he  looked  again 
at  Carter.  Something  in  the  frenzied  face 
brought  a  sudden  recollection  to  his  mind. 

"We  can't  judge  him  by  usual  standards ; 
he  's  bearing  the  sins  of  his  fathers.  We 
have  to  look  on  men  like  that  as  we  do  on 

266 


In  the  Dark 


the  insane. "  They  were  the  judge's  own 
words. 

Sandy  jumped  to  his  feet,  and,  helping 
and  half  supporting  Carter,  persuaded  him 
to  go  out  to  the  buggy,  promising  that  he 
would  not  give  him  up. 

At  the  Willowvale  gate  he  led  the  horse 
into  the  avenue,  then  turned  and  ran  at 
full  speed  into  town.  As  he  came  into  the 
square  he  found  only  a  few  groups  shiver 
ing  about  the  court-house  steps,  discussing 
the  events  of  the  day. 

"  Where  's  the  crowd  ?"  he  cried  breath 
less.  "Are  n't  they  going  to  start  from 
here?" 

An  old  negro  pulled  off  his  cap  and 
grinned. 

"  Dey  been  gone  purty  near  an  hour, 
Mist'  Sandy.  I  'spec'  dey  's  got  dat  low- 
down  rascal  hanged  by  now. ' ' 


267 


CHAPTER  XXII 


AT  WILLOWVALE 

HERE  was  an  early  tea  at 
Willowvale  that  evening,  and 
Ruth  sat  at  the  big  round 
table  alone.  Mrs.  Nelson 
always  went  to  bed  when  the 
time  came  for  packing,  and  Carter  was  late, 
as  usual. 

Ruth  was  glad  to  be  alone.  She  had 
passed  through  too  much  to  be  able  to  ban 
ish  all  trace  of  the  storm.  But  though  her 
eyes  were  red  from  recent  tears,  they  were 
bright  with  anticipation.  Sandy  was  com 
ing  back.  That  fact  seemed  to  make  every 
thing  right. 

She  leaned  her  chin  on  her  palm  and  tried 
to  still  the  beating  of  her  heart.  She  knew 
he  would  come.  Irresponsible,  hot-headed, 

268 


At  Willowvale 

impulsive  as  he  was,  he  had  never  failed  her. 
She  glanced  impatiently  at  the  clock. 

"Miss  Kufe,  was  you  ever  in  love?"  It 
was  black  Rachel  who  broke  in  upon  her 
thoughts.  She  was  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  table,  her  round,  good-humored  face 
comically  serious. 

"  No— yes.  Why,  Rachel  ?"  stammered 
Euth. 

"I  was  just  axin',"  said  Eachel,  "'cause 
if  you  been  in  love,  you  'd  know*  how  to  read 
a  love-letter,  would  n  't  you,  Miss  Ruf e  ? ' ' 

Euth  smiled  and  nodded. 

"I  got  one  from  my  beau,"  went  on 
Eachel,  in  great  embarrassment;  "but  dat 
nigger  knows  I  can't  read. ' ' 

"Where  does  he  live?"  asked  Euth. 

"Up  in  Injianapolis.  He  drives  de 
hearse." 

Euth  suppressed  a  smile.  "I  '11  read  the 
love-letter  for  you,"  she  said. 

Eachel  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  began 
taking  down  her  hair.  It  was  divided  into 
many  tight  braids,  each  of  which  was 

269 


Sandy 

wrapped  with  a  bit  of  shoe-string.  From 
under  the  last  one  she  took  a  small  envelop 
and  handed  it  to  Ruth. 

1 1  Dat  's  it, ' '  she  said.  l '  I  was  so  skeered 
I  'd  lose  it  I  did  n't  trust  it  no  place  'cept 
in  my  head. ' ' 

Ruth  unfolded  the  note  and  read : 

"  DEAR  RACHEL  :  I  mean  biznis  if  you  mean  biz- 
nis  send  me  fore  dollars  to  git  a  devorce. 

"  George:7 

Rachel  sat  on  the  floor,  with  her  hair 
standing  out  wildly  and  anxiety  deepening 
on  her  face. 

"I  ain't  got  but  three  dollars,"  she  said. 
"I  was  gwine  to  buy  my  weddin'  dress  wif 
dat." 

"But,  Rachel,"  protested  Ruth,  in  laugh 
ing  remonstrance,  ' i  he  has  one  wife. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  'm.  Pete  Lawson  ain  't  got  no  wife ; 
but  he  ain 't  got  but  one  arm,  neither.  Whicht 
one  would  you  take,  Miss  Ruf e  1 ' ' 

"Pete,"  declared  Ruth.  "He  's  a  good 
boy,  what  there  is  of  him. ' ' 

270 


At  Willowvale 

"Well,  I  guess  I  better  notify  him  to 
night,  ' '  sighed  Eachel ;  but  she  held  the  love- 
letter  on  her  knee  and  regretfully  smoothed 
its  crumpled  edges. 

Euth  pushed  back  her  chair  from  the  table 
and  crossed  the  wide  hall  to  the  library. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  heavy  wain 
scoting,  above  which  simpered  or  frowned 
a  long  row  of  her  ancestors. 

She  stepped  before  the  one  nearest  her 
and  looked  at  it  long  and  earnestly.  The 
face  carried  no  memory  with  it,  though  it 
was  her  father.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a 
handsome  man  in  uniform,  in  the  full  bloom 
of  a  dissipated  youth.  Her  mother  had  sel 
dom  spoken  of  him,  and  when  she  did  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

A  few  feet  farther  away  hung  a  portrait 
of  her  grandfather,  brave  in  a  high  stock 
and  ruffled  shirt,  the  whole  light  of  a  bibu 
lous  past  radiating  from  the  crimson  tip  of 
his  incriminating  nose. 

Next  him  hung  Aunt  Elizabeth,  super 
cilious,  arrogant,  haughty.  Euth  recalled  a 

17  271 


Sandy 

tragic  day  of  her  past  when  she  was  sent 
to  bed  for  climbing  upon  the  piano  and  past 
ing  a  stamp  on  the  red-painted  lips. 

She  glanced  down  the  long  line:  velvets, 
satins,  jewels,  and  uniforms,  and,  above 
them  all,  the  same  narrow  face,  high-arched 
nose,  brilliant  dark  eyes,  and  small,  weak 
mouth. 

On  the  table  was  a  photograph  of  Carter. 
Ruth  sighed  as  she  passed  it.  It  was  a  com 
posite  of  all  the  grace,  beauty,  and  weakness 
of  the  surrounding  portraits. 

She  went  to  the  fire  and,  sitting  down  on 
an  ottoman,  took  two  pictures  from  the  folds 
of  her  dress.  One  was  a  miniature  in  a 
small  old-fashioned  locket.  It  was  a  grave, 
sweet,  motherly  face,  singularly  pure  and 
childlike  in  its  innocence.  Ruth  touched  it 
with  reverent  fingers. 

' l  They  say  I  am  like  her, ' '  she  whispered 
to  herself. 

Then  she  turned  to  the  other  picture  in 
her  lap.  It  was  a  cheap  photograph  with  an 
ornate  border.  Posed  stiffly  in  a  photog- 

272 


At  Willowvale 

rapher's  chair,  against  a  background  which 
represented  a  frightful  storm  at  sea,  sat 
Sandy  Kilday.  His  feet  were  sadly  out  of 
focus,  and  his  head  was  held  at  an  impos 
sible  angle  by  the  iron  rest  which  stood  like 
a  half-concealed  skeleton  behind  him.  He 
wore  cheap  store-clothes,  and  a  turn-down 
collar  which  rested  upon  a  ready-made  tie 
of  enormous  proportions.  It  was  a  picture 
he  had  had  taken  in  his  first  new  clothes 
soon  after  coming  to  Clayton.  Ruth  had 
found  it  in  an  old  book  of  Annette  7s. 

How  crude  and  ludicrous  the  awkward 
boy  looked  beside  the  elegant  figures  on  the 
walls  about  her !  She  leaned  nearer  the  fire 
to  get  the  light  on  the  face,  then  she  smiled 
with  a  sudden  rush  of  tenderness. 

The  photographer  had  done  his  worst  for 
the  figure,  but  even  an  unskilled  hand  and  a 
poor  camera  had  not  wholly  obliterated  the 
fineness  of  the  face.  Spirit,  honor,  and 
strength  were  all  there.  The  eyes  that  met 
hers  were  as  fine  and  fearless  as  her  own, 
and  the  honest  smile  that  hovered  on  his  lips 

273 


Sandy 

seemed  to  be  in  frank  amusement  at  his  own 
sorry  self. 

Euth  turned  to  see  that  the  door  was 
closed,  then  she  put  the  picture  to  her  cheek, 
which  was  crimson  in  the  firelight,  and  with 
hesitating  shyness  gradually  drew  it  to  her 
lips  and  held  it  there. 

A  noise  of  wheels  in  the  avenue  brought 
her  to  her  feet  with  a  little  start  of  joy.  He 
had  come,  and  she  was  possessed  of  a  sudden 
desire  to  run  away.  But  she  waited,  with 
glad  little  tremors  thrilling  her  and  her 
heart  beating  high.  She  was  sure  she  heard 
wheels.  She  went  to  the  window,  and, 
shading  her  eyes,  looked  out.  A  buggy  was 
standing  at  £he  gate,  but  no  one  got  out. 

A  sudden  apprehension  seized  her,  and 
she  hurried  into  the  hall  and  opened  the 
front  door. 

"  Carter, "  she  called  softly  out  into  the 
night— "Carter,  is  it  you?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  she  came  back 
into  the  hall  and  closed  the  door.  On  each 
side  of  the  door  was  a  panel  of  leaded  glass, 

274 


At  Willowvale 

and  she  pressed  her  face  to  one  of  the  little 
square  panes,  and  peered  anxiously  out. 
The  light  from  the  newel-post  behind  her 
emphasized  the  darkness,  so  that  she  could 
distinguish  only  the  dim  outline  of  the 
buggy. 

Twice  she  touched  the  knob  before  she 
turned  it  again;  then  she  resolutely  gath 
ered  her  long  white  dress  in  her  hand,  and 
passed  down  the  broad  stone  steps.  The 
wind  blew  sharply  against  her,  and  the  pave 
ment  was  cold  to  her  slippered  feet. 

"Carter,"  she  called  again  and  again— 
"Carter,  is  it  you?" 

At  the  gate  her  scant  supply  of  courage 
failed.  Some  one  was  in  the  buggy,  half 
lying,  half  sitting,  with  his  face  turned  from 
her.  She  looked  back  to  the  light  in  the 
cabin,  where  the  servants  would  hear  if  she 
called.  Then  the  thought  of  any  one  else 
seeing  Carter  as  she  had  seen  him  before 
drove  the  fear  back,  and  she  resolutely 
opened  the  gate  and  went  forward. 

At   her   first    touch    Carter    started   up 

275 


Sandy 

wildly  and  pushed  her  from  him.  "You 
said  you  would  n't  give  me  up;  you  prom 
ised,  ' '  he  said. 

"I  know  it,  Carter.  I  '11  help  you,  dear. 
Don't  be  so  afraid!  Nobody  shall  see  you. 
Put  your  arm  on  my  shoulder— there !  Step 
down  a  little  farther!" 

With  all  her  slight  strength  she  supported 
and  helped  him,  the  keen  wind  blowing  her 
long,  thin  dress  about  them  both,  and  the 
lace  falling  back  from  her  arms,  leaving 
them  bare  to  the  elbow. 

Half-way  up  the  walk  he  broke  away  from 
her  and  cried  out:  "I  '11  have  to  go  away. 
It  's  dangerous  for  me  to  stay  here  an 
hour." 

"Yes,  Carter  dear,  I  know.  The  doctor 
says  it  's  the  climate.  We  are  going  early 
in  the  morning.  Everything  's  packed. 
See  how  cold  I  am  getting  out  here !  You  '11 
come  in  with  me  now,  won't  you!" 

Coaxing  and  helping  him,  she  at  last  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  him  to  bed.  The  blood 
on  his  handkerchief  told  its  own  story. 

276 


At  Willowvale 

She  straightened  the  room,  drew  a  screen 
between  him  and  the  fire,  and  then  went  to 
the  bed,  where  he  had  already  fallen  into  a 
deep  sleep.  Sinking  on  her  knees  beside 
him,  she  broke  into  heavy,  silent  sobs.  The 
one  grief  of  her  girlhood  had  been  the  way 
wardness  of  her  only  brother.  From  child 
hood  she  had  stood  between  him  and  blame, 
shielding  him,  helping  him,  loving  him.  She 
had  fought  valiantly  against  his  weakness, 
but  her  meager  strength  had  been  pitted 
against  the  accumulated  intemperance  of 
generations. 

She  chafed  his  thin  wrists,  which  her  fin 
gers  could  span;  she  tenderly  smoothed  his 
face  as  it  lay  gray  against  the  pillows ;  then 
she  caught  up  his  hand  and  held  it  to  her 
breast  with  a  quick,  motherly  gesture. 

' '  Take  him  soon,  God ! ' '  she  prayed.  ' i  He 
is  too  weak  to  try  any  more. ' ' 

At  midnight  she  slipped  away  to  her  own 
room  and  took  off  the  dainty  gown  she  had 
put  on  for  Sandy's  coming. 

For  long  hours  she  lay  in  her  great  cano- 

277 


Sandy 

pied  bed  with  wide-open  eyes.  The  night 
was  a  noisy  one,  for  there  was  a  continual 
passing  on  the  road,  and  occasional  shouts 
came  faintly  to  her. 

With  heavy  heart  she  lay  listening  for 
some  sound  from  Carter's  room.  She  was 
glad  he  was  home.  It  was  worse  to  sit  up 
in  bed  and  listen  for  the  wheels  to  turn  in 
at  the  gate,  to  start  at  every  sound  on  the 
road,  and  to  wait  and  wait  through  the  long 
night.  She  could  scarcely  remember  the 
time  when  she  had  not  waited  for  Carter  at 
night. 

Once,  long  ago,  she  had  confided  her  secret 
to  one  of  her  uncles,  and  he  had  laughed  and 
told  her  that  boys  would  be  boys.  After  that 
she  had  kept  things  to  herself. 

There  was  but  one  other  person  in  the 
world  to  whom  she  had  spoken,  and  that 
was  Sandy  Kilday.  As  she  looked  back  it 
seemed  to  her  there  was  nothing  she  had 
withheld  from  Sandy  Kilday.  Nothing? 
Sandy's  face,  as  she  had  last  seen  it,  de 
spairing,  reckless,  hopeless,  rose  before  her. 

278 


At  WUlowvale 

But  she  had  asked  him  to  come  back,  she  was 
ready  to  surrender,  she  could  make  him  un 
derstand  if  she  could  only  see  him. 

Why  had  he  not  come!  The  question 
multiplied  itself  into  numerous  forms  and 
hedged  her  in.  Was  he  too  angry  to  for 
give  her?  Had  her  seeming  indifference  at 
last  killed  his  love!  Why  had  he  not  sent 
her  a  note  or  a  message  ?  He  knew  that  she 
was  to  leave  on  the  early  train,  that  there 
would  be  no  chance  to  speak  with  her  alone 
in  the  morning. 

A  faint  streak  of  misty  light  shone 
through  the  window.  She  watched  it 
deepen  to  rose. 

By  and  by  Kachel  came  in  to  make  the 
fire.  She  tiptoed  to  the  bed  and  peeped 
through  the  curtains. 

"  You  'wake,  Miss  Kufe?  Dey  's  been  ter 
rible  goings  on  in  town  last  night!  Did  n't 
you  hear  de  posse  goin'  by?" 

"What  was  it?  What  's  the  matter?" 
cried  Euth,  sitting  up  in  bed. 

"Dat  jail-bird  Wilson  done  shot  Jedge 

279 


Sandy 

Hollis.  'Mos'  ebery  man  in  town  went  out 
to  ketch  him.  Dey  been  gone  all  night. ' ' 

" Sandy  went  with  them,"  thought  Euth, 
in  sudden  relief;  then  she  thought  of  the 
judge. 

"Oh,  Rachel,  is  he  dangerously  hurt? 
Will  he  die  1" 

"De  las'  accounts  was  mighty  bad.  Dey 
say  de  big  doctors  is  a-comin'  up  from  de 
city  to  prode  fer  de  bullet. " 

"What  made  him  shoot  him?  How  could 
he  be  so  cruel,  when  the  dear  old  judge 
is  so  good  and  kind  to  everybody  ?" 

"  Jes  pore  white  trash,  dat  Wilson,"  said 
Rachel,  contemptuously,  as  she  coaxed  the 
kindling  into  a  blaze. 

Ruth  got  up  and  dressed.  Beneath  the 
deep  concern  which  she  felt  was  the  flutter 
of  returning  hope.  Sandy's  first  duty  was 
to  his  benefactor.  She  knew  how  he  loved 
the  old  judge  and  with  what  prompt  action 
he  would  avenge  his  wrong.  She  could  trust 
him  to  follow  honor  every  time. 

"Some   ob    'em    's   comin'   back  now!" 

280 


At  Willowvale 

cried  Rachel  from  the  window.  "  I  's  gwine 
down  to  de  road  an'  ax  'em  if  dey  ketched 
him." 

"Rachel,  wait!  I  'm  coming,  too.  Give 
me  my  traveling-coat—there  on  the  trunk. 
What  can  I  put  on  my  head?  My  hat  is  in 
auntie's  room." 

Eachel,  rummaging  in  the  closet,  brought 
forth  an  old  white  tam-o'-shanter.  "That 
will  do!"  cried  Ruth.  "Now,  don't  make 
any  noise,  but  come. ' ' 

They  tiptoed  through  the  house  and  out 
into  the  early  morning.  It  was  still  half 
dark,  and  the  big-eyed  poplars  watched 
them  suspiciously  as  they  hurried  down  to 
the  road.  Every  branch  and  twig  was  cov 
ered  with  ice,  and  the  snow  crackled  under 
their  feet. 

"I  'spec'  it  's  gwine  be  summer-time 
where  you  gwine  at,  Miss  Rufe,"  said 
Rachel. 

"I  don't  care,"  cried  Ruth.  "I  don't 
want  to  be  anywhere  in  the  world  except 
right  here. ' ' 

281 


Sandy 

"Dey  're  comin',"  announced  Rachel. 
"I  hear  de  hosses." 

Ruth  leaned  across  the  top  bar  of  the  gate, 
her  figure  enveloped  in  her  long  coat,  and 
her  white  tarn  a  bright  spot  in  the  half-light. 

On  came  the  riders,  three  abreast. 

"Dat  's  him  in  de  middle/'  whispered 
Rachel,  excitedly;  "next  to  de  sheriff.  I  's 
s 'prised  dey  did  n't  swing  him  up— I  shorely 
is.  He  's  hangin'  down  his  head  lak  he  's 
mighty  'shamed." 

Ruth  bent  forward  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
prisoner's  face,  and  as  she  did  so  he  lifted 
his  head. 

It  was  Sandy  Kilday,  his  clothes  dishev 
eled,  his  brows  lowered,  and  his  lips  com 
pressed  into  a  straight,  determined  line. 

Ruth 's  startled  gaze  swept  over  the  riders, 
then  came  back  to  him.  She  did  not  know 
what  was  the  matter ;  she  only  knew  that  he 
was  in  trouble,  and  that  she  was  siding  with 
him  against  the  rest.  In  the  one  moment 
their  eyes  met  she  sent  him  her  full  assur 
ance  of  compassion  and  sympathy.  It  was 

282 


At  Willoivvale 

the  same  message  a  little  girl  had  sent  years 
ago  over  a  ship 's  railing  to  a  wretched  stow 
away  on  the  deck  below. 

The  men  rode  on,  and  she  stood  holding 
to  the  gate  and  looking  after  them. 

' '  Here  comes  Mr.  Sid  Gray, ' '  said  Rachel. 

The  approaching  rider  drew  rein  when  he 
saw  Ruth  and  dismounted. 

6 1  Tell  me  what  's  happened ! ' '  she  cried. 

He  hitched  his  horse  and  opened  the  gate. 
He,  too,  showed  signs  of  a  hard  night. 

"May  I  come  in  a  moment  to  the  fire?" 
he  asked. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room  and 
ordered  coffee. 

"Now  tell  me,"  she  demanded  breath 
lessly. 

"It  's  a  mixed-up  business,"  said  Gray, 
holding  his  numb  hands  to  the  blaze.  "We 
left  here  early  in  the  night  and  worked  on 
a  wrong  trail  till  midnight.  Then  a  train 
man  out  at  the  Junction  gave  us  a  clue,  and 
we  got  a  couple  of  bloodhounds  and  traced 
Wilson  as  far  as  Ellersberg." 

283 


Sandy 

' '  Go  on ! "  said  Euth,  shuddering. 

' '  You  see,  a  rumor  got  out  that  the  judge 
had  died.  We  did  n't  say  anything  before 
the  sheriff,  but  it  was  understood  that  Eicks 
would  n't  be  brought  back  to  town  alive. 
We  located  him  in  an  old  barn.  We  sur 
rounded  it,  and  were  just  about  to  fire  it 
when  Kilday  came  tearing  up  on  horse 
back." 

"Yes?"  cried  Euth. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "he  had  n't  started 
with  us,  and  he  had  been  riding  like  mad  all 
night  to  overtake  the  crowd.  His  horse 
dropped  under  him  before  he  could  dis 
mount.  Kilday  jumped  out  in  the  crowd 
and  began  to  talk  like  a  crazy  man.  He 
said  we  must  n't  harm  Eicks  Wilson;  that 
Eicks  had  n  't  shot  the  judge,  for  he  was  sure 
he  had  seen  him  out  the  Junction  road  about 
half-past  five.  We  all  saw  it  was  a  put-up 
job;  he  was  Eicks  Wilson's  old  pal,  you 
know. ' ' 

"But  Sandy  Kilday  would  n't  lie!"  cried 
Euth. 

284 


At  Willowvale 

"Well,  that  's  what  he  did,  and  worse. 
When  we  tried  to  close  in  on  Wilson,  Kil- 
day  fought  like  a  tiger.  You  never  saw  any 
thing  like  the  mix-up,  and  in  the  general 
skirmish  Wilson  escaped. " 

"And— and  Sandy?"  Ruth  was  leaning 
forward,  with  her  hands  clasped  and  her 
lips  apart. 

"Well,  he  showed  what  he  was,  all  right. 
He  took  sides  with  that  good-for-nothing 
scoundrel  who  had  shot  a  man  that  was  al 
most  his  father.  Why,  I  never  saw  such  a 
case  of  ingratitude  in  my  life ! ' ' 

"Where  are  they  taking  him?"  she  al 
most  whispered. 

"To  jail  for  resisting  an  officer." 

"Miss  Rufe,  de  man  's  come  fer  de  trunks. 
Is  dey  ready?"  asked  Rachel  from  the  hall. 

Ruth  rose  and  put  her  hand  on  the  back 
of  the  chair  to  steady  herself. 

1 1  Yes ;  yes,  they  are  ready, ' '  she  said  with 
an  effort.  "And,  Rachel,  tell  the  man  to  go 
as  quietly  as  possible.  Mr.  Carter  must  not 
be  disturbed  until  it  is  time  to  start." 

285 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"THE  SHADOW  ON  THE  HEAKT" 

JUST  off  Main  street,  under 
the  left  wing  of  the  court 
house,  lay  the  little  county 
jail.  It  frowned  down  from 
behind  its  fierce  mask  of 
bars  and  spikes,  and  boldly  tried  to  make  the 
town  forget  the  number  of  prisoners  that 
had  escaped  its  walls. 

In  a  small  front  cell,  beside  a  narrow 
grated  window,  Eicks  Wilson  had  sat  and 
successfully  planned  his  way  to  freedom. 

The  prisoner  who  now  occupied  the  cell 
spent  no  time  on  thoughts  of  escape.  He 
paced  restlessly  up  and  down  the  narrow 
chamber,  or  lay  on  the  cot,  with  his  hands 
under  his  head,  and  stared  at  the  grimy 
ceiling.  The  one  question  which  he  con- 

286 


"The  Shadow  on  the  Heart" 

tinually  put  to  the  jailer  was  concerning  the 
latest  news  of  Judge  Hollis. 

Sandy  had  been  given  an  examining  trial 
on  the  charge  of  resisting  an  officer  and  as 
sisting  a  prisoner  to  escape.  Refusing  to 
tell  what  he  knew,  and  no  bail  being  offered, 
he  was  held  to  answer  to  the  grand  jury. 
For  two  weeks  he  hacl  seen  the  light  of  day 
only  through  the  deep,  narrow  opening  of 
one  small  window. 

At  first  he  had  had  visitors— indignant, 
excited  visitors  who  came  in  hotly  to  re 
monstrate,  to  threaten,  to  abuse.  Dr.  Fen- 
ton  had  charged  in  upon  him  with  a  whole 
battery  of  reproaches.  In  stentorian  tones 
he  rehearsed  the  judge's  kindness  in  be 
friending  him,  he  pointed  out  his  generosity, 
and  laid  stress  on  Sandy's  heinous  ingrati 
tude.  Mr.  Moseley  had  arrived  with  argu 
ments  and  reasons  and  platitudes,  all  ex 
pressed  in  a  polysyllabic  monotone.  Mr. 
Meech  had  come  many  times  with  prayers 
and  petitions  and  gentle  rebuke. 

To  them  all  Sandy  gave  patient,   silent 

18  287 


Sandy 

audience,  wincing  under  the  blame,  but 
making  no  effort  to  defend  himself.  All  he 
would  say  was  that  Ricks  Wilson  had  not 
done  the  shooting,  and  that  he  could  say  no 
more. 

A  wave  of  indignation  swept  the  town. 
Almost  the  only  friend  who  was  not  turned 
foe  was  Aunt  Melvy.  Her  large  philosophy 
of  life  held  that  all  human  beings  were 
"chillun,"  and  "chillun  was  bound  to  act 
bad  sometimes. ' '  She  left  others  to  struggle 
with  Sandy's  moral  welfare  and  devoted 
herself  to  his  physical  comfort. 

With  a  clear  conscience  she  carried  to 
her  home  flour,  sugar,  and  lard  from  the 
Hollises'  store-room,  and  sat  up  nights  in 
her  little  cabin  at  "  Who  'd  V  Thought  It" 
to  bake  dumplings,  rolls,  and  pies  for  her 
"po'  white  chile. " 

Sandy  felt  some  misgivings  about  the  deli 
cacies  which  she  brought,  and  one  day  asked 
her  where  she  made  them. 

"I  makes  'em  out  home,"  she  declared 
stoutly.  "I  would  n't  cook  nuffin'  fer  you 

288 


"The  Shadow  on  the  Heart" 

on  Miss  Sue's  stove  while  she  's  talkin'  'bout 
you  lak  she  is.  She  'lows  she  don't  never 
want  to  set  eyes  on  you  ag'in  as  long  as  she 
lives." 

"Has  the  judge  asked  for  me!"  said 
Sandy. 

"Yas,  sir;  but  de  doctor  he  up  and  lied. 
He  toP  him  you  'd  went  back  to  de  umer- 
versity.  De  doctor  'lowed  ef  he  tole  him 
de  trufe  it  might  throw  him  into  a  political 
stroke. ' ' 

Sandy  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand. 
"You  're  the  only  one  that  's  stood  by  me, 
Aunt  Melvy ;  the  rest  of  them  think  me  a  bad 
lot." 

"Dat  's  right,"  assented  Aunt  Melvy, 
cheerfully.  "You  jes  orter  hear  de  way  dey 
slanders  you!  I  don't  'spec'  you  got  a 
friend  in  town  'ceptin'  me."  Then,  as  if 
reminded  of  something,  she  produced  a  card 
covered  with  black  dots.  "Honey,  I  's  git- 
tin'  up  a  little  collection  fer  de  church.  You 
gib  me  a  nickel  and  I  punch  a  pin  th'u'  one 
ob  dem  dots  to  sorter  certify  it." 

289 


Sandy 

"Have  you  got  religion  yet?"  he  asked 
as  he  handed  her  some  small  change. 

Her  expression  changed,  and  her  eyes 
fell.  "  Not  yit,"  she  acknowledged  reluc 
tantly;  "but  I  's  countin'  on  comin'  thV 
before  long.  I  's  done  j  'ined  de  Juba  Choir 
and  de  White  Doves." 

"The  White  Doves?"  repeated  Sandy. 

"Yas,  sir;  de  White  Doves  ob  Perfec 
tion.  We  wears  purple  calicoes  and  sets  up 
wid  de  sick." 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Annette?" 

"Lor',  honey!  ain't  I  toP  you  'bout  dat? 
De  very  night  de  jedge  was  shot,  dat  chile 
wrote  her  paw  de  sassiest  letter,  sayin'  she 
gwine  run  off  and  git  married  wif  dat  sick 
boy,  Carter  Nelson.  De  doctor  headed  'em 
off  some  ways,  and  de  very  nex'  day  what 
you  think  he  done?  He  put  dat  gal  in  a 
Cafolic  nunnery  convent!  Dey  say  she  cut 
up  scan'lous  at  fust,  den  she  sorter  quiet 
down,  an'  'gin  to  count  her  necklace,  an' 
make  signs  on  de  waist  ob  her  dress,  an' 
say  she  lak  it  so  much  she  gwine  be  a  Cafolic 

290 


"The  Shadow  on  the  Heart" 

nunnery  sister  herself.  Now  de  doctor  's  jes 
tearin'  his  shirt  to  git  her  out,  he  's  so 
skeered  she  '11  do  what  she  says." 

Sandy  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
Aunt  Melvy  wagged  her  head  knowingly. 

"He  need  n't  pester  hisself  'bout  dat. 
Now  Mr.  Carter  's  'bout  to  die,  an'  you  's 
shut  up  in  jail,  she  's  done  turnin'  her  'ten- 
tion  on  Mr.  Sid  Gray.  Dey  ain't  no  blinds 
in  de  world  big  enough  to  keep  dat  gal  from 
shinin '  her  eyes  at  de  boys ! ' ' 

"Is  Carter  about  to  die!"  Sandy  had 
become  suddenly  grave. 

"Yas,  sir;  so  dey  say.  He  's  got  some- 
pin'  that  sounds  lak  tuberoses.  Him  and 
Mrs.  Nelson  and  Miss  Eufe  never  did  git 
to  Californy.  Dey  stopped  off  in  Mobile  or 
Injiany,  I  can't  ricollec'  which.  He  took  de 
fever  de  day  dey  lef ',  an'  he  ain't  knowed 
nothin'  since." 

After  Aunt  Melvy  left,  Sandy  went  to  the 
window  and  leaned  against  the  bars.  Below 
him  flowed  the  life  of  the  little  town,  the  men 
going  home  from  work,  the  girls  chattering 

291 


Sandy 

and  laughing  through  the  dusk  on  their  way 
from  the  post-office.  Every  figure  that 
passed,  black  or  white,  was  familiar  to  him. 
Jimmy  Keed's  little  Skye  terrier  dashed 
down  the  street,  and  a  whistle  sprang  to  his 
lips. 

How  he  loved  every  living  creature  in  the 
place!  For  five  years  he  had  been  one  of 
them,  sharing  their  interests,  part  and  par 
cel  of  the  life  of  the  community.  Now  he 
was  an  outcast,  an  alien,  as  much  a  stranger 
to  friendly  faces  as  the  lad  who  had  knelt 
long  ago  at  the  window  of  a  great  tenement 
and  had  been  afraid  to  be  alone. 

"I  '11  have  to  go  away, ' '  he  thought  wist 
fully.  "They  '11  not  be  wanting  me  here 
after  this." 

It  grew  darker  and  darker  in  the  gloomy 
room.  The  mournful  voice  of  a  negro  sing 
ing  in  the  next  cell  came  to  him  faintly : 

"  We  '11  hunt  no  moah  f  o'  de  possum  and  de  coon, 

On  de  medder,  de  hill,  an'  de  shoah. 
We  '11  sing  no  moah  by  de  glimmer  ob  de  moon, 
On  de  bench  by  de  old  cabin  doah. 

292 


' '  The  Shadow  on  the  Heart ' ' 

11  De  days  go  by  like  de  shadow  on  de  heart, 

Wid  sorrer,  wha'  all  wuz  so  bright $ 
De  time  am  come  when  de  darkies  hab  to 

part— 
Den,  my  ole  Kaintucky  home,  good  night." 

Sandy's  arm  was  against  the  grating  and 
his  head  was  bowed  upon  it.  Through  all 
the  hours  of  trial  one  image  had  sustained 
him.  It  was  of  Ruth,  as  he  had  seen  her 
last,  leaning  toward  him  out  of  the  half-light, 
her  brown  hair  blowing  from  under  her 
white  cap  and  her  great  eyes  full  of  won 
dering  compassion. 

But  to-night  the  darkness  obscured  even 
that  image.  The  judge's  life  still  hung  in 
the  balance,  and  the  man  who  had  shot  him 
lay  in  a  distant  city,  unconscious,  waiting 
for  death.  Sandy  felt  that  by  his  sacrifice 
he  had  put  the  final  barrier  between  himself 
and  Ruth. 

With  a  childish  gesture  of  despair,  he 
flung  out  his  arms  and  burst  into  a  pas 
sion  of  tears.  The  intense  emotional  im 
pulse  of  his  race  swept  him  along  like  a 

293 


Sandy 

feather  in  a  gale.  His  grief,  like  his  joy,  was 
elemental. 

When  the  lull  came  at  last,  he  pressed 
his  hot  head  against  the  cold  iron  grating, 
and  his  thoughts  returned  again  and  again  to 
Ruth.  He  thought  of  her  tender  ministries 
in  the  sick  room,  of  her  intense  love  and 
loyalty  for  her  brother.  His  whole  soul  rose 
up  to  bless  her,  and  the  thought  of  what  she 
had  been  spared  brought  him  peace. 

Through  days  of  struggle  and  nights  of 
pain  he  fought  back  all  thoughts  of  the  fu 
ture  and  of  self. 

These  times  were  ever  afterward  a  twi 
light-place  in  his  soul,  hallowed  and  sancti 
fied  by  the  great  revelation  they  brought 
him,  blending  the  blackness  of  despair  with 
the  white  light  of  perfect  love.  Here  his 
thoughts  would  often  turn  even  in  the  stress 
and  strain  of  the  daily  life,  as  a  devotee 
stops  on  his  busy  round  and  steps  within  the 
dim  cathedral  to  gain  strength  and  inspira 
tion  on  his  way. 

294 


"The  Shadow  on  the  Heart" 

The  next  time  Aunt  Melvy  came  he  asked 
for  some  of  his  law-books,  and  from  that  on 
there  was  no  more  idling  or  dreaming. 

Among  the  volumes  she  brought  was  the 
old  note-book  in  which  the  judge  had  made 
him  jot  down  suggestions  during  those  long 
evening  readings  in  the  past.  It  was  full  of 
homely  advice,  the  result  of  forty  years' 
experience,  and  Sandy  found  comfort  in  fol 
lowing  it  to  the  letter. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  learned 
the  power  of  concentration.  Seven  hours' 
study  a  day,  without  diversion  or  interrup 
tion,  brought  splendid  results.  He  knew  the 
outline  of  the  course  at  the  university,  and 
he  forged  ahead  with  feverish  energy. 

Meanwhile  the  judge's  condition  was 
slowly  improving. 

One  afternoon  Sandy  sat  at  his  table, 
deep  in  his  work.  He  heard  the  key  turn 
in  its  lock  and  the  door  open,  but  he  did  not 
look  up.  Suddenly  he  was  aware  of  the  soft 
rustle  of  skirts,  and,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw 

295 


Sandy 

Ruth.  For  a  moment  he  did  not  move,  think 
ing  she  must  be  but  the  substance  of  his 
dream.  Then  her  black  dress  caught  his 
attention,  and  he  started  to  his  feet. 

"Carter?"  he  cried— "is  he—  " 

Ruth  nodded;  her  face  was  white  and 
drawn,  and  purple  shadows  lay  about  her 
eyes. 

"He  's  dead,"  she  whispered,  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice;  then  she  went  on  in 
breathless  explanation:  "but  he  told  me 
first.  He  said, '  Hurry  back,  Ruth,  and  make 
it  right.  They  can  come  for  me  as  soon  as 
I  can  travel.  Tell  Kilday  I  was  n't  worth 
it. '  Oh,  Sandy !  I  don't  know  whether  it  was 
right  or  wrong,— what  you  did,— but  it  was 
merciful:  if  you  could  have  seen  him  that 
last  week,  crying  all  the  time  like  a  little 
child,  afraid  of  the  shadows  on  the  wall, 
afraid  to  be  alone,  afraid  to  live,  afraid  to 
die-" 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

Sandy  started  forward,  then  he  paused 

296 


'It 's  been  love,  Sandy,  .  .  .  ever  since  the  first 


"The  Shadow  on  the  Heart" 

and  gripped  the  chair-back  until  his  fingers 
were  white. 

' 1  Ruth, ' '  he  said  impatiently, ' '  you  'd  best 
be  going  quick.  It  '11  break  the  heart  of 
me  to  see  you  standing  there  suffering,  un 
less  I  can  take  you  in  me  arms  and  comfort 
you.  I  Ve  sworn  never  to  speak  the  word; 
but,  by  the  saints—  " 

"You  may!"  sobbed  Ruth,  and  with  a 
quick,  timid  little  gesture  she  laid  her  hands 
in  his. 

For  a  moment  he  held  her  away  from 
him.  "It  's  not  pity/7  he  cried,  searching 
her  face,  "nor  gratitude V9 

She  lifted  her  eyes,  as  honest  and  clear 
as  her  soul. 

"It  's  been  love,  Sandy,"  she  whispered, 
"ever  since  the  first." 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  permit  came, 
Sandy  walked  out  of  the  jail  into  the  court 
house  square.  A  crowd  had  collected,  for 
Ruth  had  told  her  story  and  the  news  had 
spread ;  public  favor  was  rapidly  turning  in 
his  direction. 

299 


Sandy 

He  looked  about  vaguely,  as  a  man  who 
has  gazed  too  long  at  the  sun  and  is  blinded 
to  everything  else. 

"I  Ve  got  my  buggy, ' '  cried  Jimmy  Reed, 
touching  him  on  the  arm.  "  Where  do  you 
want  to  go  I ' ' 

Sandy  hesitated,  and  a  dozen  invitations 
were  shouted  in  one  breath.  He  stood  irre 
solute,  with  his  foot  on  the  step  of  the  buggy ; 
then  he  pulled  himself  up. 

"To  Judge  Hollis,"  he  said. 


300 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 


THE  PEIMKOSE  WAY 


PEING  and  winter,  and 
spring  again,  and  flying  ru 
mors  fluttered  tantalizing 
wings  over  Clayton.  Just 
when  it  was  definitely  an 
nounced  that  Willowvale  was  to  be  sold, 
Euth  Nelson  returned,  after  a  year's  ab 
sence,  and  opened  the  old  home. 

Mrs.  Nelson  did  not  come  with  her.  That 
excellent  lady  had  concluded  to  bestow  her 
talents  upon  a  worthier  object.  In  her  place 
came  Miss  Merritt,  a  quiet  little  sister  of 
Euth 's  mother,  who  proved  to  be  to  the  curi 
ous  public  a  pump  without  a  handle. 

About  this  time  Sandy  Kilday  returned 
from  his  last  term  at  the  university,  and 
gossip  was  busy  over  the  burden  of  honors 

301 


Sandy 

under  which  he  staggered,  and  the  brilliance 
of  the  position  he  had  accepted  in  the  city. 
In  prompt  contradiction  of  this  came  the 
shining  new  sign,  ' '  Hollis  &  Kilday, ' '  which 
appeared  over  the  judge 's  dingy  little  office. 

Nobody  but  Ruth  knew  what  that  sign  had 
cost  Sandy.  He  had  come  home,  fresh  from 
his  triumphs,  and  burning  with  ambition  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world,— to  make  a  name 
for  her  to  share,  and  a  record  for  her  to  be 
proud  of.  The  opportunity  that  had  been 
offered  him  was  one  in  a  lifetime.  It  had 
taken  all  his  courage  and  strength  and  loy 
alty  to  refuse  it,  but  Ruth  had  helped  him. 

' '  We  must  think  of  the  judge  first,  Sandy, ' ' 
she  said.  "  While  he  lives  we  must  stay 
here;  there  '11  be  time  enough  for  the  big 
world  after  a  while." 

So  Sandy  gave  up  his  dream  for  the  pres 
ent  and  tacked  the  new  sign  over  the  office 
door  with  his  own  hand. 

The  old  judge  watched  him  from  the  pave 
ment.  '  '  That  's  right, ' '  he  said,  rubbing  his 
hands  together  with  childish  satisfaction; 

302 


The  Primrose  Way 

"that  's  just  about  the  best-looking  sign  I 
ever  saw!" 

"If  you  ever  turn  me  down  in  court  I  '11 
stand  it  on  its  head  and  make  my  own  name 
come  first, "  threatened  Sandy;  and  the 
judge  repeated  the  joke  to  every  one  he  saw 
that  day. 

It  was  not  long  until  the  flying  rumors 
settled  down  into  positive  facts,  and  Clayton 
was  thrilled  to  its  willow-fringed  circum 
ference.  There  was  to  be  a  wedding!  Not 
a  Nelson  wedding  of  the  olden  times,  when 
a  special  car  brought  grand  folk  down  from 
the  city,  and  the  townspeople  stayed  apart 
and  eyed  their  fine  clothes  and  gay  behavior 
with  ill-concealed  disfavor.  This  was  to  be 
a  Clayton  wedding  for  high  and  low,  rich 
and  poor. 

There  was  probably  not  a  shutter  opened 
in  the  town,  on  the  morning  of  the  great 
day,  that  some  one  did  not  smile  with  plea 
sure  to  find  that  the  sun  was  shining. 

Mrs.  Hollis  woke  Sandy  with  the  dawn, 
and  insisted  upon  helping  him  pack  his 

303 


Sandy 

trunk  before  breakfast.  For  a  week  she 
had  been  absorbed  in  his  nuptial  outfit, 
jealously  guarding  his  new  clothes,  to  keep 
him  from  wearing  them  all  before  the  wed 
ding. 

Aunt  Melvy  was  half  an  hour  late  in  ar 
riving,  for  she  had  tarried  at  "Who  'd  'a' 
Thought  It"  to  perform  the  last  mystic  rites 
over  a  rabbit's  foot  which  was  to  be  her  gift 
to  the  groom. 

The  whole  town  was  early  astir  and  wore 
a  holiday  air.  By  noon  business  was  virtu 
ally  abandoned,  for  Clayton  was  getting 
ready  to  go  to  the  wedding. 

Willowvale  extended  a  welcome  to  the 
world.  The  wide  front  gates  stood  open, 
the  big-eyed  poplars  beamed  above  the  ole 
anders  and  the  myrtle,  while  the  thrushes 
and  the  redwings  twittered  and  caroled  their 
greetings  from  on  high.  The  big  white 
house  was  open  to  the  sunshine  and  the 
spring ;  flowers  filled  every  nook  and  corner ; 
even  the  rose-bush  which  grew  outside  the 
dining-room  window  sent  a  few  venturesome 

304 


The  Primrose  Way 

roses  over  the  sill  to  lend  their  fragrance 
to  those  within. 

And  such  a  flutter  of  expectancy  and  ro 
mance  and  joy  as  pervaded  the  place!  All 
the  youth  of  Clayton  was  there,  loitering 
about  the  grounds  in  gay  little  groups,  or 
lingering  in  couples  under  the  shadow  of  the 
big  porches. 

In  the  library  Judge  and  Mrs.  Hollis  did 
the  honors,  and  presented  the  guests  to  little 
Miss  Merritt,  whose  cordial,  homely  greet 
ings  counteracted  the  haughty  disapproval 
of  the  portraits  overhead. 

Mr.  Moseley  rambled  through  the  rooms, 
indulging  in  a  flowing  monologue  which  was 
as  independent  of  an  audience  as  a  summer 
brook. 

Mr.  Meech  sought  a  secluded  spot  under 
the  stairway  and  nervously  practised  the 
wedding  service,  while  Mrs.  Meech,  tucked 
up  for  once  in  her  life,  smiled  bravely  on 
the  company,  and  thought  of  a  little  green 
mound  in  the  cemetery,  which  Sandy  had 
helped  her  keep  bright  with  flowers. 

19  305 


Sandy 

They  were  all  there,  Dr.  Fenton  slapping 
everybody  on  the  back  and  roaring  at  his 
own  jokes;  Sid  Gray  carrying  Annette's 
flowers  with  a  look  of  plump  complacency; 
Jimmy  Reed  constituting  himself  a  bureau 
of  information,  giving  and  soliciting  news 
concerning  wedding  presents,  destination  of 
wedding  journey,  and  future  plans. 

Up-stairs,  at  a  hall  window,  the  groom 
was  living  through  rapturous  throes  of  an 
ticipation.  For  the  hundredth  time  he  made 
sure  the  ring  was  in  the  left  pocket  of  his 
waistcoat. 

From  down-stairs  came  the  hum  of  voices 
mingled  with  the  music.  The  warm  breath 
of  coming  summer  stole  through  the  window. 

Sandy  looked  joyously  out  across  the 
fields  of  waving  blue-grass  to  the  shining 
river.  Down  by  the  well  was  an  old  wind 
mill,  and  at  its  top  a  weather-vane.  When 
he  spied  it  he  smiled.  Once  again  he  was 
a  ragged  youngster,  back  on  the  Liverpool 
dock ;  the  fog  was  closing  in,  and  the  coarse 
voices  of  the  sailors  rang  in  his  ears.  In 

306 


The  Primrose  Way 

quick  flashes  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood  came 
before  him,— the  days  on  shipboard,  on  the 
road  with  Kicks,  at  the  Exposition,  at  Hollis 
Farm,  at  the  university,— and  through  them 
all  that  golden  thread  of  romance  that  had 
led  him  safe  and  true  to  the  very  heart  of 
the  enchanted  land  where  he  was  to  dwell 
forever. 

"  'Fore  de  Lawd,  Mist'  Sandy,  ef  you 
ain't  fergit  yer  necktie!" 

It  was  Aunt  Melvy  who  burst  in  upon  his 
reverie  with  these  ominous  words.  She  had 
been  expected  to  assist  with  the  wedding 
breakfast,  but  the  events  above-stairs  had 
proved  too  alluring. 

Sandy's  hand  flew  to  his  neck.  "It  's 
at  the  farm,"  he  cried  in  great  excitement, 
"wrapped  in  tissue-paper  in  the  top  drawer. 
Send  Jim,  or  Joe,  or  Nick— any  of  the  dar 
kies  you  can  find ! ' ' 

"Send  nuthin',"  muttered  Aunt  Melvy, 
shuffling  down  the  stairs.  "I  's  gwine  my 
self,  ef  I  has  to  take  de  bridal  kerridge." 

Messengers  were  sent  in  hot  haste,  one 

307 


Sandy 

to  the  farm  and  one  to  town,  while  Jimmy 
Keed  was  detailed  to  canvass  the  guests  and 
see  if  a  white  four-in-hand  might  be  pro 
cured. 

"The  nearest  thing  is  Mr.  Meech's,"  he 
reported  on  his  fourth  trip  up-stairs ;  "it  's 
a  white  linen  string-tie,  but  he  does  n't  want 
to  take  it  off." 

"Faith,  and  he  '11  have  to!"  said  Sandy, 
in  great  agitation.  "Don't  he  know  that 
nobody  will  be  looking  at  him?"  , 

Annette  appeared  at  a  bedroom  door,  a 
whirl  of  roses  and  pink. 

"What  's  the  m-matter?  Ruth  will  have 
a  f-fit  if  you  wait  much  longer,  and  my  hair 
is  coming  out  of  curl." 

"Take  it  off  him,"  whispered  Sandy, 
recklessly,  to  Jimmy  Reed ;  and  violence  was 
prevented  only  by  the  timely  arrival  of  Aunt 
Melvy  with  the  original  wedding  tie. 

The  bridal  march  had  sounded  many 
times,  and  the  impatient  guests  were  be 
coming  seriously  concerned,  when  a  hand 
kerchief  fluttered  from  the  landing  and 

308 


The  Primrose  Way 

Sandy  and  Ruth  came  down  the  wide  white 
steps  together. 

Mr.  Meech  cleared  his  throat  and,  with 
one  hand  nervously  fidgeting  under  his  coat- 
tail,  the  other  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  his 
coat,  began: 

"We  are  assembled  here  to-day  to  wit 
ness  the  greatest  and  most  time-hallowed 
institution  known  to  man." 

Sandy  heard  no  more.  The  music,  the 
guests,  the  flowers,  even  his  necktie,  faded 
from  his  mind. 

A  sacred  hush  filled  his  soul,  through 
which  throbbed  the  vows  he  was  making  be 
fore  God  and  man.  The  little  hand  upon 
his  arm  trembled,  and  his  own  closed  upon 
it  in  instant  sympathy  and  protection. 

"In  each  of  the  ages  gone,"  Mr.  Meech 
was  saying  with  increasing  eloquence,  "man 
has  wooed  and  won  the  sweet  girl  of  his 
choice,  and  then,  with  the  wreath  of  fairest 
orange-blossoms  encircling  her  pure  brow, 
while  yet  the  blush  of  innocent  love  crim 
soned  her  cheek,  led  her  away  in  trembling 

309 


Sandy 

joy  to  the  hymeneal  altar,  that  their  names, 
their  interests,  their  hearts,  might  all  be 
made  one,  just  as  two  rays  of  light,  two 
drops  of  dew,  sometimes  meet,  to  kiss— to 
part  no  more  forever. " 

Suddenly  a  loud  shout  sounded  from  the 
upper  hall,  followed  by  sounds  like  the  re 
peated  fall  of  a  heavy  body.  Mr.  Meech 
paused,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  in  con 
sternation  toward  the  door.  Then  through 
the  stillness  rang  out  a  halleluiah  from 
above. 

"Praise  de  Lawd,  de  light  's  done  come! 
De  darkness,  lak  de  thunder,  done  roll  away. 
I  's  saved  at  last,  and  my  name  is  done  writ 
ten  in  de  Promised  Land!  Amen!  Praise 
de  Lawd !  Amen ! ' ' 

To  part  of  the  company  at  least  the  situa 
tion  was  clear.  Aunt  Melvy,  after  seeking 
religion  for  nearly  sixty  years,  had  chosen 
this  inopportune  time  to  l  '  come  th  'u '. ' ' 

She  was  with  some  difficulty  removed  to 
the  wash-house,  where  she  continued  her 
thanksgiving  in  undisturbed  exultation. 

310 


The  Primrose  Way 

Amid  suppressed  merriment,  the  mar 
riage  service  was  concluded,  Mr.  Meech 
heroically  foregoing  his  meteoric  finale. 

Clayton  still  holds  dear  the  memory  of 
that  wedding:  of  the  beautiful  bride  and 
the  happy  groom,  of  the  great  feast  that 
was  served  indoors  and  out,  and  of  the  good 
fellowship  and  good  cheer  that  made  it  a 
gala  day  for  the  country  around. 

When  it  was  over,  Sandy  and  Ruth  drove 
away  in  the  old  town  surrey,  followed  by 
such  a  shower  of  rice  and  flowers  and  bless 
ings  as  had  never  been  known  before.  They 
started,  discreetly  enough,  for  the  railroad- 
station,  but  when  they  reached  the  river 
road  Sandy  drew  rein.  Overhead  the  trees 
met  in  a  long  green  arch,  and  along  the  way 
side  white  petals  strewed  the  road.  Below 
lay  the  river,  dancing,  murmuring,  beck 
oning. 

"Let  's  not  be  going  to  the  city  to-day!" 
cried  Sandy,  impulsively.  "Let  's  be  fol 
lowing  the  apple-blossoms  wherever  they 
lead." 

311 


Sandy 

' l  It  's  all  the  same  wherever  we  are, ' '  said 
Buth,  in  joyful  freedom. 

They  turned  into  the  road,  and  before 
them,  through  the  trees,  lay  the  long  stretch 
of  smiling  valley. 


312 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


